When Gary Busey got nominated for an Oscar for his performance in "The
Buddy Holly Story," alongside Robert DeNiro, Warren Beatty, Laurence
Olivier, and winner Jon Voight, it turned a lot of heads and made
people pay more attention when the film came out on video and cable.
Seeing it then for the first time years ago, I was amazed by Busey's
powerful dynamism, the way he lives through each moment of the film so
authentically. The rest of the film was enjoyable, funny, perceptive,
and made me feel like I really understood something about Buddy Holly.
Watching it again years later, I still think Busey is terrific. But the
rest of the film feels like a 1970s TV movie, with broad
characterizations by the likes of Conrad Janis as a record exec. The
Crickets are woefully portrayed, or perhaps a better word might be
betrayed, given this shows them to be racist mediocrities who hold
their buddy Buddy down. Even when the history isn't wrong, it feels
wrong, like the scene of the Buffalo DJ who locks himself in his studio
and plays "That'll Be The Day" non-stop until the police break down the
door, helping launch the band.
"How'd get that dynamite sound?" the actor playing the DJ asks, hamming
"Well, there's a guitar, drums, a stand-up bass and a cricket," Buddy
replies, meaning an insect got in the middle of the recording session
and made some background noise.
"Wow, Buddy Holly and the Crickets! What a super name!"
There's some truth behind the anecdote, a cricket apparently did find
its way into the studio and inspired the band's name, but it just feels
too contrived. Same with Buddy's problems back home in Lubbock, Texas,
where his girl wants him to shape up and go to college. The actress
playing the girlfriend is cute and winsome, but she pouts like a sitcom
actress and says her lines like she's auditioning to play Marsha Brady.
But when the camera is on Busey as Holly, something takes over. He
throws himself into every song with utter abandon, losing himself in
Buddy's big glasses and pompadoured curls. It's not a note-perfect
Buddy, but it encapsulates his spirit in a defining way. The only other
actor who so dominated a film was George C. Scott in "Patton."
The fictionalized Crickets, only two instead of three, Don Stroud and
Charles Martin Smith, are pretty terrific as backing musicians. I
especially liked Stroud as Jesse the drummer, the way he cracks the
skins and hammers the high hats with door-slamming authority. All the
numbers are performed live, an unusual and brave choice by director
Steve Rash that pays off brilliantly, capturing the raw vibrancy of
straight-ahead rock 'n' roll.
There's a great opening sequence, done with a swooping camera shot
inside a roller rink to where Buddy and his band play some bop for the
kiddies and scandalize the community. Just the way the band switches
from the soporific "Mockingbird Hill" to the thumping "Rock Around With
Ollie Vee," with the audience reacting in comically but believably
different ways (kids rushing the stage clapping their hands, adults
rushing the exits clapping their ears) is a thrilling capsule
commentary on what rock overcame to take over American culture. Also
good are the period touches at the rink, like the malt bar, the roller
skates, the sad fellow with the combover who plays rinkydink piano
until someone taps him on the shoulders in mid-note.
Also good is the Apollo Theater scene, where Buddy and the Crickets
become the first white band to play in that Harlem venue, getting a
hilariously cold reaction when the curtain goes up, then winning the
crowd over. I sort of doubt it happened like that, but there's some
funny exchanges with the theater manager, and it's nice seeing Stymie
from "Our Gang" in an adult role, complete with his trademark derby.
Basically, any scene where Buddy is performing is good, though his
final performance at the Winter Dance Party in Clear Lake, Iowa, by
which point he has become a solo act, is a little overdone, what with
the over-the-top violins on "True Love Ways" and Ritchie Valens joining
him on stage at the end with maracas.
Meanwhile back home, the Crickets come over to Buddy's apartment, and
after talking to Buddy's pregnant wife Maria Elena, decide to surprise
Buddy at his next tour stop in Moorhead, Minnesota. Yeah, right. Of
course Buddy won't be there, he and Ritchie and the Big Bopper having
picked the wrong night to fly. All that's left is a freeze frame of
Buddy and some sad music over the credits.
We only had Buddy for 18 months, and this film, along with Don McLean's
1972 hit "American Pie," gave him back to us in a small but tangible
way. For that, and for Busey's breakout moment, it is worth treasuring,
and there are some nice scenes here and there. But playing with the
facts is no way to tell a legend's story, especially when it serves
sitcom-caliber punch lines. It's a good movie, but the real story
behind it is better.