Saturday Night At The Movies
Electric Kool-Aid acid reflux: Taking Woodstock
By Dennis Hartley
Bob & Carol & Ted & …uh, has anyone seen Alice?
“If you can remember anything about the sixties, you weren’t really there”. Don’t you hate it when some lazy-ass critic/wannabe socio-political commentator trots out that tired old chestnut to preface some pompous “think piece” about the Woodstock Generation?
God, I hate that.
But I think it was Paul Kantner of the Jefferson Airplane who once said: “If you remember anything about the sixties, you weren’t really there.” Or it could have been Robin Williams, or Timothy Leary. Of course, the irony is that whoever did say it originally, probably can’t really remember if they were in fact the person who said it first.
You see, memory is a funny thing. Let’s take the summer of 1969, for example. Here’s how Bryan Adams remembers it:
That summer seemed to last forever
and if I had the choice
Yeah – I’d always wanna be there
Those were the best days of my life
Best days of his life. OK, cool. Of course, he wrote that song in 1984. He’d had a little time to sentimentalize events. Now, here’s how Iggy Stooge describes that magic time:
Well it’s 1969 okay.
We’ve got a war across the USA.
There’s nothing here for me and you.
We’re just sitting here with nothing to do.
Iggy wrote that in 1969. So which of these two gentlemen were really there, so to speak?
“Well Dennis,” you may be thinking (while glancing at your watch) “…that’s all fine and dandy, but doesn’t the title of this review indicate that the subject at hand is Ang Lee’s new film, Taking Woodstock? Shouldn’t you be quoting Joni Mitchell instead (duh!)?”
Patience, Grasshopper. Here’s how Joni Mitchell “remembers” Woodstock:
By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
She wrote that in 1969. But here’s the rub (drum roll please): she wasn’t really there.
There was a point in there, somewhere. Somehow it made sense when I was peaking on the ‘shrooms about an hour ago. Oh, I’m supposed to be writing a movie review. Far out.
I guess my point is, there’s always been a bit of a disconnect between the “Woodstock” that has morphed over the last 40 years into a highly romanticized representation of the ideals of a specific generation and the actual “Woodstock Music and Art Fair” event that took place near Bethel, New York in August of 1969. In other words, can anyone who was of a certain age and shared mindset in 1969 rightfully claim (like Joni) that they were “there”, in spirit, and that it was a beautiful thing? Or, did you have to physically attend the event, parking miles away, slogging through a muddy sea of humanity, with only a slim chance of getting close enough to the stage to identify who was playing? And in spite of the impression given by Michael Wadleigh in his brilliant rock doc, Woodstock: 3 Days of Peace & Music 
No main characters in Ang Lee’s Taking Woodstock get that close to the stage either (although some do ingest certain substances, play in the mud and take a figurative wallow in the countercultural zeitgeist of 1969). For the most part, Lee doesn’t set out to just reenact the grand canvas of the event as has already been depicted in Wadleigh’s iconic documentary (what would be the point?) Instead, he has opted for a far more intimate approach, based on a memoir by Elliot Tiber, who helped broker the deal between the producers of the music festival and the Bethel Town Board to hold the event there after the permits were refused for the originally intended location in nearby Wallkill, N.Y.
Elliot is played by stand-up comic/first time leading man Demetri Martin (a former writer for Conan O’Brien who you will most likely recognize from his sporadic appearances on The Daily Show). In 1969, he is living in the Village in N.Y.C., eking out a living as an interior designer. When it becomes clear to him that his aging parents (Henry Goodman and Imelda Staunton) are overextending themselves trying to singlehandedly keep their flagging Catskills motel business afloat as the bank threatens foreclosure, Elliot heads back home upstate to ostensibly become their Man Friday. Serendipity eventually puts Elliot face-to-face with concert producer Michael Lang (Jonathan Groff, who captures his real-life counterpart’s shrewdly manipulative charm and angelic inscrutability to a tee). Seeing little more than an opportunity to perhaps sell out the motel for a few weeks and give the business some much-needed cash flow, Elliot (having no idea of course that he is playing a pivotal role in enabling what is destined to become forever known as the high-water mark event of the sixties counterculture movement) introduces Lang to an open-minded local farmer, Max Yasgur (Eugene Levy), who has some spacious fields that might fit the bill. Oh, there is some resistance to overcome from grumpy neighboring farmers, as well as consternation from a few local Town Board members about the idea of their sleepy hamlet being overrun by a bunch of (the original!) Dirty Fucking Hippies (this part of the story takes on a bit of a Footloose 
“Dramedies” can be a tricky business. Too much drama can curdle the comedy. Too much comedy can sabotage any dramatic tension in the piece. Unfortunately, Lee’s film takes a fair stab at both but doesn’t fully succeed at either, leaving you with the cinematic equivalent of tepid dishwater. That being said, there are a couple decent sequences; particularly a protracted scene in which Elliot, wandering the outskirts of the massive crowd and trying to work his way closer toward the distant stage, gets waylaid by a mellow couple who are camped out in their (wait for it) VW van. The couple (played with requisite doe-eyed blissfulness by Paul Dano and Kelli Garner) invite Elliot aboard for a nice little trip (which doesn’t involve any actual driving- nudge nudge wink wink). It’s a well staged, very sweet little interlude, beautifully played by all three young actors.
However, one well-executed vignette doth not a great two hour film make (is that proper English, or am I still high?). There are some good supporting performances; Liev Schreiber does an admirable turn in an underwritten role as a cross-dressing ex-Marine (don’t ask-just think John Lithgow in The World According to Garp
I was there, maaan: Monterey Pop
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