NO NUKES (1980) **1/2 I saw Steven Tyler hanging around in some of the backstage group shots, and if there was ever an event that desperately needed Aerosmith... I don't mean that in a snide way, I honestly don't, and as far as that goes the Ramones or Hawkwind would have been fine. Despite the sorry absence of power chords it's an eclectic and impressive array of musical talent. The irony of the situation is that the quality of the music is dwarfed in retrospect by the visionary message. It was written off by the mainstream at the time as unbearable California intellectual indulgence. Here we are more than twenty-five years later, Chernobyl in the balance of years, shutting down every nuke plant that we can. Turns out that not only isn't it particularly safe (which everyone knew), it's expensive as hell. Strange, that the artists win the historic debate on an economic point involving an issue as devoutly scientific as waste disposal. James Taylor cuts a particularly impressive figure, anticipating the threat of nuclear suitcase bombs at a time when the Reagan braintrust was eagerly preparing for World War III with the godless Soviet hordes. Of course Ralph Nader already understood it all, look at him! Jane Fonda and Tom Haydon probably understood it, too, though she's already moved beyond being a Movement icon. I wonder if she had any clue how far her admirers were going to over-shoot her position in trying to match her bourgeoisie chic. Some were there, many were not, it seems that as the counterculture became mainstream its leaders headed for the woods, for a variety of reasons. In a way the film represents a turning point: the crest of the cultural wave of those seeking to be "cool" must be cresting somewhere around 95%, though it's still certainly a solid majority, and would be the governing party of the western world if...well, that would require attributes that it cannot have in majority status, hence the splintering and purging. The film within a film is at once an incredible indictment of the United States government and organized religion, what with actual footage of a chaplain preparing guinea pig American soldiers to be radiated in the Nevada desert. But what about the music, anyway? Carly Simon is barefoot, James Taylor has Waddy Wachtel in his band, Jesse Colin Young's "Get Together" was my favourite in high school, and Gil-Scott Heron offers a very moving "Almost Lost Detroit." Jackson Browne is at his apex, his band is really hot, he looks really hungry, and it's very difficult to figure out how he didn't sell 50 million records over the next decade. Bruce Springsteen offers an incredibly mixed performance: his is by far the superior material, he's just written "The River" and also does "Thunder Road," but he hopelessly undermines his own credibility with absurdly overwraught schtick. Give him three hours and he knows what to do, but a guest slot like this and there's a surprisingly strong resemblance to the likes of Donald Duck. I mean, it makes some sense to pretend to pass out from exhaustion at the end of one of his standard 220 minute marathons, but at the end of a twenty-minute guest spot? He's incredibly powerful at points, but overall I don't know if I've ever seen him worse. It's like Sha-na-na played earlier and he's trying to take their turf. Yeah, yeah, yeah, so who wins? I have to go with Bonnie Raitt's very sensible, soulful, straightforward performance even though they don't show "Angel From Montgomery," which I know from the records was incredible. Honourable mention, definitely, to Graham Nash performing "Our House" backstage with his wife, and little son slamming Aerosmithesquely dissonant counterpoint on the bass end.
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