SCREEN

IT’S ALL GONE PETE TONG

Xania Woodman

The movie begins with a scraggly man beating himself up in a padded room. With vacant eyes, he collapses against the wall, a long stream of spittle streaming down his beard. The audience's laughter has turned to nervous chuckles or stunned silence. This is not for the faint of art.


It's All Gone Pete Tong is a biopic chronicling the life and times of British DJ Frankie Wilde, who gained mass appeal and success in Ibiza, Spain, during the '90s, peaked in 2000, went deaf, went mad, found peace, relearned how to DJ, and then promptly disappeared. Wilde (portrayed to the tee by Paul Kaye) has since become a legend, and tales of his sightings are almost as wild as he was.


Though entertaining, the film suffers from director Michael Dowse's indecision over whether this is a comedy or a drama. Masquerading among the harsher scenes involving drug use, violence and all the gore the human body can produce, are scenes of slapstick, trite metaphors and not-so-witty innuendoes. Frankie's coke addiction is represented by a giant badger in a torn fairy costume. When he tries to kick the habit, he must wrestle the beast, usually losing. When the badger mask is finally removed, Frankie sees his own face. Surprise. In another scene, it is hinted that his wife Sonya (Magowan) might have cheated on him. The next scene shows his son, a small black child with a large afro.


Also confusing is the use of two casts: actors portraying Wilde, his family and friends; and real people brought in from Wilde's past to make the story more credible. These include DJ Pete Tong and scores of DJs who are his fans, like Paul Van Dyk, Tiesto and Sarah Main. The dead-pan interviews a la Christopher Guest's This is Spinal Tap and Best In Show add depth. But they also further blur the line between what is true in this true story and what has been injected for comedic value.


Interesting techniques like the use of dual frames in one shot, side by side like two turntables, add interest, as does incredible footage of clubs Cream, Pasha and Manumission. The sound track also was mixed with great care from Wilde's repertoire of collaborations.


Don't expect to be floored by a skillfully crafted script. This is an interesting delve into DJ folklore and house-music history. And there is truth in it—somewhere. Who says self-loathing and redemption can't be funny?

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