Phish in clips

>> Bittersweet Motel doesn't rock

by GENEVIEVE PAIEMENT

In between the endless jamming scenes (onstage, backstage, in the studio, in hotel rooms) in the jam-rockumentary Phish: Bittersweet Motel, there is a moment that perfectly embodies the film's confused mood. Two jocks are smoking bowls and kicking it in nothing but cut-off jean shorts in their tent at a weekend-long Phish blowout in Maine that attracted 70,000 roly-poly Phish-heads in summer '97. Sagaciously, they point out that, "THC is the stuff in pot that gets you stoned." Then they shotgun cans of Bud and talk chicks: those who pull up in Cherokees will have shaved armpits, not so for the ones in VW vans, dude. "But it's all good."

This little Phish fan portrait and other equally misguided conversations with meandering stoned trustafarians (dreadlocked young suburbanites whose Phish-following is bankrolled by momsy and dadsy) make one wonder what exactly filmmaker Todd Philips was thinking. Is he just making fun or did he seriously undertake a sociological investigation into the Phish phenomenon?

Given that Philips' first two films were Hated, the blood and feces-soaked tale of ultimate punk nihilist G.G. Allin's life, and Frat House, a closeup look at twisted fraternity life that garnered lawsuits, a tame Phish doc seems a tad out of place in Philips' oeuvre. Then again, he had already entered the mainstream with last summer's silly college romp Road Trip. But it was Hated that caught Phish's attention and they're the ones who offered him the job of making a movie about them.

But the good chaps of Phish are just a quartet of big-hearted, well-adjusted Vermont college boys who got to continue jamming their hearts out all over the world--not exactly fodder for a thrilling rock 'n' roll biopic. This is all too clear within the first five minutes of the film. As singer-guitarist Trey Anastasio harps on about them being simple American white boys who just wanna to play music, the other guys say all of 10 words each, which makes the whole thing feel a little lopsided.

Then there are the incessant, unwavering close-ups of Anastasio playing guitar and the European tour, where more concerts ensue, all of them blurring together. As the press kit put it, the film "cinematically reveals many maximum-Phish moments." Too bad the moments are none too magical.

Sure, it's great that the vibes are groovy at their shows and Phish heads are all peaceniks who get along without assaulting or shooting one another. But watching show after show and hearing the fatuous nattering of fans flakier than mille-feuille pastry, I was forced to conclude you just "had to be there" to truly appreciate the Phish phenom. Then again, maybe you really don't want to be there. In which case you should just rent Hated.

Phish: Bittersweet Motel opens March 9