The Evening Standard
November 27, 1998
The Best Guitar In Hollywood
The Director Of Silence Of The Lambs Has Been Filming With Britain's Most Underrated Musician
Pete Clark Met Them Both
by Pete Clark
At first glance, Robyn Hitchcock is not the kind of subject matter you would associate with Jonathan Demme. The former is this country's best-kept musical secret while the latter makes films like Silence Of The Lambs, Philadelphia, and Something Wild which are the talk of every town. But the fact is that Demme's latest piece of work is called Storefront Hitchcock and is essentially a record of the musician playing a gig in the front of a shop on 23rd Street in Manhattan with only a small audience, a guitar, a couple of friends and the occasional passing bum for company.
It is a riveting film, beautifully shot in an artfully artless manner.
Hitchcock is that type of English eccentric whose baby milk was cheered up by the addition of mild psychedelics. He peddles first-class flights of fancy.
Demme is the nicest big-time Hollywood director one could hope to meet, and a huge music fan, as evidenced by his wonderful Talking Heads concert movie Stop Making Sense.
When the two of them have finished working out who is tallest -- it's clearly Robyn, by a head -- they sit down and explain themselves.
"I was playing this gig in upstate New York, and someone came backstage and announced that Jonathan Demme was in the audience," recalls Robyn. "I remember thinking, 'I doubt that,' and then some trap door flew back and Jonathan and his wife materialised in the room."
Jonathan then explains his mysterious presence: "I had a tremendous admiration based on difficult-to-come-by records which sporadically appeared in L.A. in the '80s. Then I got married and had kids and lost touch with music for a while, and my life revolved around the Mickey Mouse Club. Then Robyn's name turns up on the bill at a tiny, very hip club a couple of miles from where I live. I said, 'Joanne, let's go!'" Thus a film was born.
Hitchcock's performance is mesmeric, and big fan Demme captures every tic and nuance. It comes as no surprise that Robyn has a theory about his celluloid fame. "It is The Picture Of Dorian Gray in reverse -- as I get older and more decrepit, the me in the film will look younger and smoother and more competent. In 20 years' time, I will be looking absolutely angelic!"
Demme is quick to add his two cents: "I shot the film over two days because I didn't want Robyn to age significantly."
For some reason, this spot of banter prompts a heated discussion on the future of the former's first novel, freshly completed. "My agent in New York has gone mysteriously quiet," Hitchcock confides.
"I heard she recently closed her office and split for Tahiti," offers Jonathan in a spirit of friendship.
"At least she didn't split for tahini," comes back Robyn in a flash.
With a great deal of effort, I re-route the conversation along more conventional paths. There is a man with a guitar in a shop window singing songs and talking.
Why would anyone take the trouble to visit the cinema to see it?
"When I first saw Robyn onstage, I was unprepared for how enormously moved and entertained I was going to be.
"Usually, at a gig, there's a horn section, or a light show, or a DJ at the back. But here there's one guy on his own sweating, and my god we are riveted!"
Oddly enough, Robyn has another theory: "I suspect the film will end up like The Blues Brothers, a cult thing that is shown at midnight in colleges -- 'Hey, man, let's get some booze and go see Storefront!'"
Even as a student, you could do a lot worse.
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