Modern Classic: High Fidelity (2000)
In 2000 I went long on High Fidelity for a film magazine. I recently revisited the article to keep you entertained during the doldrums of August. Here goes:
Pop music is a way of life. You don't have to explain that to a 17-year-old, they are ignoring all the rules anyway. But how about when you're twice that age and you still think your record collection is more important than your relationship(s)? Then you have a problem. Then you get a movie like High fidelity.
“I hope I die before I get old,” Pete Townshend sang some decades before the turn of the century. But he grew old, didn't die, and even kept his dignity (or something like that). The delusion that pop music was something a person could not focus on after his thirtieth and later fortieth birthday disappeared in the mists of time.
There were still some limits, though. They were just a little more concealed. Take going to concerts. Anyone who moved with the times — and not with his contemporaries — and continued to look for innovative, hip bands was increasingly wondering where all the familiar faces from the past had gone. They were on Fleetwood Mac’s reunion tour. Or worse: at home with wife and children. And only went to The Rolling Stones once a year. It was doable for the true music lover to keep up with the next generation (and the one after that) but in the long run it became a lonely battle.
way out
People who are still fanatically involved with pop music after their thirties are often professionally connected to the medium. They work in record stores or for record companies, write or photograph for magazines, play records on the radio or in clubs, direct or broadcast videos. Such safe havens not only provide shelter for people who have lost their heart to pop music at a young age, but are also the ideal escape for people who feel the need to prolong their puberty indefinitely. The irregular hours involved in working in the music world make it possible to live a rather antisocial way of life. Boyfriends should adjust to the working, sleeping and eating times of the person with the popular job. Parents who wondered when you were going to actually do something with your life can now be freely talked back to or simply ignored. And most importantly: your own music taste is all that matters, other people just don’t know what they are talking about.
For John Cusack’s character in the movie it is a great life, full of free CDs, concerts and casual contacts, until he finds himself in his thirties and his life threatens to spiral downward. The vinyl store he owns starts losing customers because he has never heard of customer loyalty. Getting up after getting through the night takes more and more effort. Parents now just pretend he is a creature from another planet. And the woman who lasted the longest with him — she found him interesting at first because he was once a DJ at her favorite club — turns out to have someone else and decides to move on. He dispels the sadness by playing music that doesn't make him think about her. Then he listens to all the songs that do remind him of her. And over time he asks himself: did I start listening to pop music because I was unhappy or am I unhappy because I listen to pop music?
Vanity
This is the entry point of High Fidelity, based on Nick Hornby's bestseller and directed with a lot of heart by Stephen Frears, though it's clear that lead actor, co-producer and co-writer John Cusack is the driving force behind the film. It is also the moment when Rob Fleming (Cusack) begins to think about his life. About music, women, work and the future. The right record collection and the wrong job. Fear of commitment and growing up. On the subject of most pop songs: love.
I know someone like Rob. In fact, I know countless people like Rob. Maybe I myself was at some point a Rob. Rob's head is full of songs about love. It's the soundtrack to his life. But in fact he doesn't know a fuck about it. In an extended monologue in which Rob talks to the camera between acts, which works better than expected due to Cusack's commitment to the bit, he talks about his ex-girlfriends. On the basis of a Top-5 list — a common thread in book and film — he determines which relationship break-ups have touched him most deeply. (This list drew some criticism from a feminist perspective that with hindsight is very understandable. Still, in 2023 there are movies like Joy Ride, where women talk like that about men, so that’s progress too, I guess).
Anyway, the women on Rob’s Top-5 list are archetypes with a universal recognisability: the first love in the schoolyard; the girlfriend who wanted to wait to have sex; the rebound girlfriend who herself had just been dumped by her partner. The girlfriend you steal from your best friend (this relationship is in the book, but is skipped in the movie. Cusack reportedly didn't want to appear too unsympathetic). And crucially: the girlfriend who is too good to be true. The girl you think is the great love of your life. But also the girl you're never quite sure of and who ends up running off with a man who looks much better than you. The woman you still think about in disbelief years later: did I ever have a relationship with her? The relationship that you never really get over and that kills the main character's self-esteem. The girlfriend with the appearance of Catherine Zeta-Jones (excellently cast, played completely believable).
Rob loses his ambitions, stops studying and starts working in a record store. From that moment on, music is the only friend he can really trust. Infatuations become less intense, yet relationships last longer. There is no doubt that the girlfriend by whom Rob is dumped at the beginning of the film, Laura (Iben Hjelje, from Mifune's last song) rises high on the above list. For the rest of the film, Rob tries to get her back. An old story, but the interpretation is vibrant. In one scene, even Bruce Springsteen appears at Rob's bedside to give some good advice. And while Laura dates another guy, Rob's misery is temporarily relieved by the fulfillment of one of his dreams: he has a romantic night with a folk singer played by Lisa Bonet. Everything is driven by vanity, and not just in the movie world.
ill-mannered
Besides love, High fidelity is also about the different ways in which men and women interact with pop music. Men excel in endless conversations about individual songs, guitar solos, producers and are very adept at comparing one artist to another: after all, my favorite CD is better and more important than yours. Women (remember, the movie was released in 2000, things are different now) don't get involved in such trifles. Rob remembers not only the title of the song that brought them together ("Got to get you off my mind"), but also the artist (Solomon Burke). Laura only remembers the title. He doesn't think that's possible. She finds living her life more important.
Though presented as "everyman," Rob is a mystery to the average woman. He doesn't seem particularly sympathetic, is touchy and self-centered. In addition, his Championship Vinyl record store has two 'friends' who are also not an advertisement for the male sex. A bespectacled geek, Dick (Todd Louiso), who doesn't speak but whispers, reformulates each question three times before finally asking it, can't stand confrontation, and collects demo cassettes from bands no one has ever heard of. But he means well. The other is Barry (Jack Black), a rough around the edges cat, who is ill-mannered and aggressively confrontational. The kind of person you can argue with for the rest of your life within half a minute of meeting them. Someone who finds Stevie Wonders 'I just called to say I love you' not just whiny and slimy, but a crime against humanity. Barry and Dick are one hundred percent lifelike. It's hilarious to hear Rob say he hired them for three days a week, but they came every day in no time because they had nowhere else to go. It also cuts close to home. I did the same when I started freelancing for OOR Magazine in the early nineties. I just showed up every day, whether I was asked to or not, until they gave me enough work.
Even stronger than Hornby's book — which is set in London, while the film is set in Chicago, but the differences are otherwise minor — the film expresses the feeling that pop music is the soundtrack to our lives. The film has the advantage that an appropriate song can immediately be added to every state of mind of the protagonist. According to the film's credits, there are a whopping 59 songs used in the film — Rob's taste in music knows hardly any stylistic boundaries, he just doesn't like hip-hop. (I’m convinced that in 2023 he would like hip-hop, see also that far more inclusive High Fidelity series from a couple of years ago starring Lisa Bonet’s daughter Zoë Kravitz, whose character also likes pop culture and Top Five lists).
Swinging
"Note, I'm going to sell CDs from The Beta Band," Rob says on a busy Saturday afternoon, showing the thrill of running a record store. He puts on a song by this British cult group, that produces a barely nameable form of ambient folk dance, and before long most of the customers will be swinging along. That's how you do it!
Another scene that sticks in my mind: Barry comes in on Monday afternoon and plays his special Monday morning compilation tape, which starts with the annoyingly cheerful 'Walking on sunshine' from Katrina and The Waves, which immediately leads to an argument with Rob and Dick. Pop music is all around in High fidelity, but it’s not like Paul Thomas Anderson’s magnificent Magnolia, where Aimee Mann's songs are an integral part of the film, or Chungking express by Wong Kar-wai, where "California dreaming" is used so persistently that film and song become inextricably linked. After seeing Tarantino’s Reservoir dogs I've never been able to hear Stealer's Wheel's "Stuck in the middle with you" without seeing a cut off ear in front of me. This doesn’t really happen here, but that’s fine too.
High fidelity was and still is a captivating, charming comedy — and a must for anyone passionate about pop music.
Oene Kummer
A Dutch version of this article originally appeared in De Filmkrant in 2000.