In 1998, a documentary of the same name, same story, by the same filmmakers premiered to praise at Sundance. In its 1-hour length, it depicted the decline and fall of the last gasp of New York's early '90s, mostly gay, glam disco scene.
Using the suitably standard techniques of tabloid TV, the film focused on the brutal murder of a young Latino drug dealer that led to the closing of the city's outrageous Limelight nightclub, and the arrest of its fast-lane owner, Peter Gatien. At the center of this scandal was a "little boy lost" named Michael Alig, who had fled his Midwestern roots to insinuate his way into the Oz of after-hours New York. This cretinous Horatio Alger became the last star of the already over-the-top, partied-out crowd by promoting the Limelight as the scene of his fantasy of instant, post-Warhol fame.
Alig's reign was mercifully brief, brought down by the dealer's murder and his own boasts about being the killer.
That's a fair enough subject for the short documentary, now making its way to video stores. But who in his right mind could possibly want to see it dramatized?
The filmmakers were able to put together this low-budget movie by attaching an "element" that would insure some hint of profit. For Party Monster, that element was the grown-up MacCauley Culkin, favorite kid star during the same era, to play Alig, who must be thrilled.
In fact, the brave actor is almost reason enough to subject yourself to the movie. His pouty-lipped innocence is actually sympathetic, though nothing about the creep on screen deserves it. There has been buzz about Culkin's performance, but that's not going to attract most of his grown-up former fans to a picture like this. Good performance, Mac, bad career move.
For the record, the picture is slow, talky and unevenly written. Besides Culkin, Seth Green is excellent as his bitchy, but in the end sympathetic, "best friend," James St. James, whose book, Disco Bloodbath, is the frame for the narrative. The Practice's Dylan McDermott is terribly miscast as Gaitien, and usually endearing Chloe Sevigny (Boys Don't Cry) and Natasha Lyonne (Slums of Beverly Hills) are wasted as idiotic Alig groupies.