CBGB

CBGBs.

The name conjures up a thousand dreams.

It doesn't really matter if you never played there, failed to see a band there, or even missed out on making the pilgrimage to its hallowed doors to pay your respects to the venue that birthed so many monsters.

None of that matters as its legend cannot be diminished as every single punk fan still owes a huge debt of gratitude to Hilly for opening the doors of his bar to the bands, and fans, who took music off in a direction that few could have imagined would shake the world.

So with a biopic now available we should all be lining up to bask in the cinematic homage to the venue we all know and love, as let's be honest here and say out right that no one could fuck up a CBGBs biopic.

The place is steeped in so many stories that could jump to the screen that it's a sure fire hit, and who cares if it wasn't to be entirely one hundred percent accurate as long as its heart is in the right place.

Oh, but wait.

I just watched it and it is a pile of shit.

There's probably more shit shoveled into its 101 minutes run time than Hilly's dog ever left on the floor.

And on the subject of his dog.
I sincerely hope that the fleas it carried on its back are now being relocated to the pubic area of the director Randall Miller.

You could ask me what is wrong with it, but it would be easier to list what is right with it.

The soundtrack is great.

That's it.

I'm not even going to comment on the official soundtrack release that doesn't feature The Ramones as that's another story, but simply put you are best enjoying this film with your ears open rather than your eyelids.

No one looks like anyone we know, the dialogue is reflective of the venues toilets, and it is like an over long advert for some kids television show.

To paraphrase a comment that the front man of a band - who shall at this point remain anonymous - said to me about another act 'You know it's shit, but it wrapped up in layers of cream to disguise that. It looks good, but dig away at it and it's still shit at the center.'

Now I like Harry Potter. I'm not ashamed to admit it, but Ron Weasly as Cheetah Chrome is just too much of a leap of faith for me, and I have a sneaky suspicion that Rupert Grint knows it to.

The Debbie-alike? Bollocks.

Stiv-alike? More bollocks.

How can you fuck up the Ramones. 

There are cartoons that capture them better than this motley crew of guys in bad wigs and leather jackets.

Television, Talking Heads.....oh give me a break.

I could throw a stone out of my window and hit someone that would be more appropriate to portray these people.

Taylor Hawkins.....Get back to your drum stool and behave yourself.

Do you know how bad this is?

It hovers just below that point where a bad film manages to shake off the shackles of being really really bad and steps up to being so bad that in a perverse way it's good.

It's just at that pinnacle of simply being bad, and fails to smash the glass ceiling of badness that would bring it to cult level bad.

Right now someone is having a bowel movement that is providing them with more pleasure than this would.

In fact a proctologist is probably wrist deep in someone somewhere and as they groan in discomfort is is saying 'shut up or I will put on the CBGBs film and you will know what real pain is.'

I would tell people to avoid it at all costs, but I expect that similar to myself you will be saying that it can't be as bad as people say and you will have to learn from your own mistakes.

Do you know the worst thing about it to?

I might still buy this fuckin' waste of celluloid as there's a bit of the anally retentive punk in me that would feel that I need to get it.

I bloody don't, but the completest urge is strong.

I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning if I do.

It really is an atrocity.

A pox on everyone involved.

You pissed on my dreams.