Detroit Rock City
- R
- Year:
- 1999
- 95 min
- 1,009 Views
FADE IN:
INT. MRS. BRUCE'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Decorated in Carol Brady chic. When it's not gaudy, tacky,
and loud, it's blander than toast. Colors like lime green
and sunshine orange should be reserved for popsicles only.
MRS. BRUCE, late 30's, enters looking exhausted. She carries
a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other, Erma
Bombeck's The Grass Is Always Greener Over The Septic Tank.
HUMMING "We've Only Just Begun," Mrs. Bruce crouches next to
her wildly-ancient entertainment center complete with 8-track.
She flips the first record forward on her Ronco Record Mate.
Album after album flaps forward. Olivia Newton-John, Neil
Diamond, the Osmond Brothers. She stops on the Carpenters
and sighs at the serene cover art. Just what the doctor
ordered.
Placing the vinyl on the turntable, she CLICKS the dustcover
closed and FLICKS "Play." Reclining in her Lazyboy, she sips
her wine, opens the book and awaits the mellow tones of Karen
Carpenter.
Suddenly, her eardrums are hammered by machine gun GUITAR.
Caustic ROCK 'N' ROLL assaults her senses. She jumps, spilling
her wine all over herself. This isn't the Carpenters...
IT'S KISS!
Racing to the entertainment center, she turns the volume
control knob so violently, it comes off in her hand. The
music is even louder now.
Flustered by the awful noise, she tries lifting the dustcover.
It's stuck. She screams and covers her ears. This is Hell.
Running to the rear of the huge console, she stretches to
reach the plug, but can't. Fingertips millimeters away.
As the cacophony POUNDS she shakes the entire stereo with
all her frantic might.
SCREEEEEECH! The needle scrapes across the vinyl with a
shrill, finally coming to a stop. Whew, silence!
Then, POP, the dustcover opens unceremoniously. Shaken, she
grabs the record with trembling hands and reads the label...
Mrs. Bruce's blood boils.
MRS. BRUCE
KISS! The devil's music!
EXT. LEX'S HOUSE - NIGHT
A small, two-story house amid a suburban neighborhood of
other two-story houses. Uninspired architecture. Spindly
trees.
Two-car garage.
A faint yellow glow emanates from a cellar window across
which shadows frantically dart. Over the CRICKETS, we hear
MUFFLED, BADLY-RENDERED ROCK 'N' ROLL. SCRATCHY, GUTTURAL,
inhuman.
CAMERA MOVES to the cellar window. Inside we see four TEENAGE
BOYS who are to blame for the racket. Band practice.
INT. LEX'S BASEMENT/BEDROOM - NIGHT
An inner-sanctum of KISS devotion. Faux-wood paneling is
plastered with countless KISS posters, pictures, fold-outs.
The ceiling is wallpapered with more KISS posters. KISS dolls,
magazines, records, comic books clutter the shag-carpeted
floor. Fast food wrappers heap over the KISS garbage pail.
The four high schoolers rock their hearts out as they blast
a familiar tune offensively off-key.
BOYS SINGING:
"I wanna rock 'n' roll all night and
party every day!"
They stink, but they sure are trying hard. Meet the band
"Mystery." Concert tee-shirts, holey jeans, total burn-outs.
HAWK, a scraggily-haired, disenchanted youth, strains his
vocal chords on the microphone as he SCRATCHES at his rhythm
guitar. Hawk is sort of the brains of this operation, but
knowing the others, that doesn't say much.
LEX POUNDS a bass with earnest determination. Lanky with bad
posture, Lex is already sporting worry lines. He takes
everything way-too-seriously.
TRIP STRUMS lead guitar like he's hammering nails. All id,
Trip is slightly out of his mind. But, is it the chemicals
or just his chemistry. He always wears a knit cap.
JAM, a sensitive kid (but no wuss), BASHES on his drums like
a madman making the bass drum pulsate like a spastic heart.
The big drum bears the word "Mystery" painted on its skin
with a lightning "S" just like the KISS logo.
They bring the classic tune to a shrieking conclusion and
thrust their hands over their heads in the KISS symbol.
Hawk screams into the mike at their imaginary audience.
HAWK:
Thank you, Cleveland! You're a great
crowd. But after three and a half
hours of kick-ass rock and seven
encores on top of that, I'm sorry to
say that this time we really gotta
get back to our hotel rooms and f***
some groupies.
Behind him, Trip grabs Lex's bass and swings it by the neck
at an amp pretending to bash it over and over again. Lex
quickly yanks it away from him.
LEX:
What the f***, Trip? That's my bass!
Jam emerges from behind the pile of drums smiling.
JAM:
That was curly!
TRIP:
Just one more day of school to get
through, girls, before tomorrow
night... Live!
(getting excited)
COBO Hall! Detroit, Michigan!
(like an announcer)
You wanted the best!
ALL FOUR BOYS:
You got the best! The hottest band
in the world... KISS!!
They all make that BREATH SOUND that mimics a screaming crowd.
Suddenly, headlights swing by in the window above them like
a spotlight. Lex hops onto the unmade bed and looks out the
cellar window.
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