MisterWhiplash Having read (re-read actually) 'Please Kill Me", and having read a lot about Iggy Pop and the Stooges over the years, I didn't expect I'd maybe learn too much about them from this doc. Little did I know not only I would, but that I would be laughing much of the way (the story where Ron Asheton asks Moe Howard's permission to use the name 'Stoooges' kills, but not as much as Iggy's dead serious response when he is told he *willl* play Peter Pan on Broadway by David Bowie's seemingly scummy manager). It's also at times dark, at times harrowing, and the most welcome thing to me is how Jarmusch starts with the Stooges at their (first) end in 1973, when they were broke, Iggy was missing gigs and often showing up so wasted on heroin he could "sometimes sing, sometimes not", and it changes up how we usually see these kind of rock documentaries. It often will start with the adulatory remarks. Here, Iggy Pop in the 1973 footage looks like he's about ready to puke all over himself... while stage diving... while probably slathering himself with some substance of unknown origin... maybe genitals out too, who knows(!)This was an entirely fearless band, and they created art simply by virtue of only doing what *they* liked. F*** popular taste. Hell, if one follows Pop by his word (and how can you not?) there were many, many manufactured acts (Including CSNY? please not them) and that if nothing else the Stooges acted as a counterpoint to so much of what was going on in the late 60's and early 70's while being one of the hardest bands of the era. Jarmusch does an excellent job of showing us through Pop, the late Scott Asheton and other interviews, plus plenty of stock footage and, not unlike Julien Temple with Filth & the Fury, clips from old shows, movies and other rock acts (Soupy Sayles being one of them of course) that make joke of what we're seeing, or at least reference.Even as someone who thought he knew the Stooges, or at least Iggy Pop (real name Jim Osterberg), this gives as full a picture as you can get while, at the very end, showing us just how massive an influence they had. Think about it: they couldn't play (at first anyway, they got better as they went), and yet they changed things simply by the force of what rock and roll could do and has done when it's at its most pure. The film reflects the aggression, the commitment to absurdity, and Pop's own madness in performance, which was an act depending on the night (or it was all of a piece).FUN! And I never thought I'd see (or think about) the day when a Jim Jarmusch movie had animated sequences. Bonus!

Pete-230 Early in the film, Iggy mentions how Soupy Sales taught him to keep his writing concise and to-the-point (the kid-show host instructed that letters sent by viewers be twenty-five words or less). The lesson is not lost on Jim Jarmusch, who promises a documentary about the career of the Stooges and delivers exactly that. We get a recap of how they came together, followed by a solid recounting of their brief moment in the spotlight. When they fall apart in '73, the story stops abruptly, then jumps ahead to the group's revival in 2003 (with just a couple of words about what the Ashetons and James Williamson did in the interim). Iggy's solo career is almost completely unmentioned; fitting, as this is a Stooges doc, not an Iggy bio. Though he does get the lion's share of screen time, his recollections here are centered on the band, not himself.Likewise, the interviews are limited to participants: the band members (minus original bassist David Alexander, who died in '75); manager Danny Fields; the Asheton brothers' sister Kathy; occasional sax sideman Steve Mackay; and late-period bassist Mike Watt. Ron Asheton passed in 2009 and appears via archival interviews. Blessedly, there are no rock critics, musicians or movie stars to expound in an overly fawning, sycophantic fashion about the group's importance to them, rock music, or the development of western civilization in general. The recent Beatles tour documentary "Eight Days a Week" was very nearly sunk by the inclusion of Whoopi Goldberg telling us how her mother bought her a ticket to the Shea Stadium show. Her memories and opinions are no more important (or even germane) than those of the other 60,000 people who were there that night. She's a celeb talking head who added nothing but her ego to the proceedings. Here, the laser focus is on telling a story through those who were part of the story, to the exclusion of third-party opinions (and you know what opinions are like - everybody has one...)An immense amount of audio and visual material is packed into the hour-and-three-quarter running time, as attested to by acknowledgments in the end credits. That it never seems overstuffed, hyperactive or rushed is a tribute to Jarmusch's sense of pacing.I went in with limited expectations of a run-of-the-mill rock bio, at best (the choice of film was made by my wife, who's a major Iggy fan). I came out more than impressed by a well-constructed, tightly focused exercise in documentary filmmaking that would have been outstanding no matter the subject.

deproduction This is a shallow film about a shallow (albeit likable) man, full of shallow references to events that would only be interesting to people who are already fans of the band. As a documentary filmmaker myself, I would've left 75% of this film on the cutting room floor. Did you know Iggy once saw John Wayne driving down the street in LA? ...Well, he *thinks* it was John Wayne... I wouldn't put that drivel in a god damn Facebook post, much less a documentary film. I have to believe there was some depth to be found in the life and lessons of Iggy and the Stooges, but its all wasted on Jarmusch. This is nothing but a vanity piece made by fans for fans. It will be an utterly forgotten film with zero relevance for the world beyond Iggy/Stooges fans. This isn't to say that the Stooges weren't a very relevant band. I am convinced they were. But that doesn't make for an interesting film, and its essentially the only message conveyed. I enjoyed looking at Iggy's face for over an hour, but after 30 minutes being impressed at how well that man has aged, despite a lifetime of abusing his body, there was nothing left to ponder. Better to spend your time on films that don't simply elevate celebrity, but dig into deeper issues, like the "Friends Forever" documentary about a pair of musicians who never achieve any fame, unintentionally illustrating that life is about the journey, not the destination. That film was made by an auteur, not a fanboy, who exposes the emptiness of pursuing fame, sex, drugs, and everything else that Iggy and the Stooges seemingly glorified. Unless you're in the mood for a shallow fluff piece, that would be a better use of your time.

jc-ee-79 I just saw this at Melbourne International Film Festival in my home town, and It completely lived up to my expectations. I am a big Stooges fan and first heard of this documentary collaboration between Iggy Pop and Director Jim Jarmusch a few years back and could not wait to see it. As a fan of the band and some of the Director's work, they are the perfect marriage to tell this tale. The documentary, told by most of the band themselves but primarily Iggy, covers the bands early inception and up to the 2003 reunion. Iggy is a fascinating interview subject, as are all The Stooges that offer insight,wit and humour in recreating the journey they shared. There is a definite brotherhood between these guys, that was at times as destructive as it was touching. The tributes paid to the fallen Stooges are moving in its unique way, and the documentary as a whole really captures the lasting impact this band has had on music and their influence they have left in their wake. Any fan of this incredible band, that were a statement that pre-dated punk and shocked so many at the time, will love this film. If you aren't a fan, then it also serves as a very entertaining document on a band that are unmistakable in their impact,the fascinating characters and is a chronicle of a turbulent time in music and the world that The Stooges so brilliantly encapsulated in their sound.