24 Hour Party People

24 Hour Party People (from Weird and Wonderful II: Fifty More Cult Films by George Hughes, available from freefall-productions.com on 02/11/20)

2002 / UK / 117 minutes

“I’m trying to get this shower of cunts who masquerade as a band to play some fucking music, which seems to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my fucking life!”

Director: Michael Winterbottom / Screenplay: Frank Cottrell Boyce / Director of Photography: Robby Muller / Music: Various Artists / Production: Andrew Eaton for Revolution Films / Cast: Steve Coogan (Tony Wilson), Lennie James (Alan Erasmus), Shirley Henderson (Lindsay), Paddy Considine (Rob Gretton), John Simm (Bernard Sumner), Danny Cunningham (Shaun Ryder), Ralf Little (Peter Hook), Andy Serkis (Martin Hannett), Peter Kay (Don Tonay), Sean Harris (Ian Curtis), Keith Allen (Roger Ames), Kieran O’Brien (Nathan), Rob Brydon (Ryan Letts), Simon Pegg (Journalist).

 

In grim, late ’70’s Manchester, Granada TV (regional ITV) presenter Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan) finds himself increasingly bored and frustrated with the alternately dull and ridiculous local news stories he’s sent out to cover. After attending an almost empty Sex Pistols gig, Wilson is inspired to found a record label, open a club and bring the city’s best ground level musicians and bands to worldwide attention.

   Combining the true story of the late Wilson, his legendary Factory Records label and his infamous Hacienda nightclub with the contemporaneous quickfire comedy style of Harry Enfield and The Fast Show, 24 Hour Party People perfectly captures the creativity, humour and energy of a time and place. Casting Alan Partridge himself as Wilson works better than many had expected (great, too good to verify quote from a former associate of both: “They got the second biggest cunt in Manchester to play the biggest cunt in Manchester”) and the whole thing’s set to a cracking soundtrack of Factory artists.

   Beginning in the Punk era with Wilson signing Joy Division and promoting his first local club nights, the film allows him frequent asides to the camera, often breaking the fourth wall to inform the audience that a particular incident we’ve just witnessed has been exaggerated or may not have even taken place at all but that he prefers to “Print the legend” for a better story.

   As ever with such characters though, it’s some of the more bizarre and outlandish stuff that is actually completely true. Wilson really did keep his TV career going alongside Factory, the label’s founding pledges were signed in his own blood and the Hacienda did attempt to control the influx of drug dealers by hiring them as club security (“The problem being the solution in a different set of clothes”).

   Because the real Factory was at it’s most influential towards the beginning and end of it’s existence, 24HPP spends most of it’s first act with Joy Division. The film introduces innovative but volatile record producing eccentric Martin Hannett (Andy Serkis in another of his trademark transformational performances), depicts the band’s battles against- and struggles not to be associated with- the re-emerging Far Right and tells the story of frontman Ian Curtis (Sean Harris).

   Curtis would get a whole film dedicated to him a few years later with former Joy Division photographer turned director Anton Corbijn’s feature debut, Control (2007). Taking a much more serious approach than 24HPP, Control was critically adored in all the predictable circles but hugely misses the earlier film’s passion and ability to laugh at itself. And in an admittedly strong performance, Sam Riley’s interpretation of Curtis- intentionally or not- comes off as an insufferable bore at best and a completely self- absorbed moaner at worst.

    After briefly covering the financial debacle of New Order’s Blue Monday single and it’s self- defeating expensive sleeve design (a typical Factory cock- up illustrating the company’s uncanny ability to snatch a failure from the jaws of success), 24HPP then jumps ahead to the late ’80’s and Wilson’s discovery of the Happy Mondays.

   Combining an Indie look with a Dance sound, the Mondays’ introduction brings Factory towards it’s inevitable, amphetamine- fuelled implosion at the beginnings of the Rave Age, with the Hacienda always being full of punters but hardly anyone ordering anything at the bar except tap water.

   The film ends with Wilson- having survived as long as he could on credit and the financial acrobatics of shifting label money to the club and back again- being forced to give up. The great scene in which he finally admits to a visiting executive from London (Keith Allen) that he doesn’t actually have anything to sell because Factory never bothered with contracts is unforgettable and manages to be both ludicrous and inspiring at the same time. “I have protected myself from ever having to literally or metaphorically having to sell out” Wilson explains “By, in fact, having nothing to sell”.

   It’s this combination of romantic artistic integrity and amateurish, DIY winging it that makes the film and it’s subject so endearingly enjoyable. For all Wilson’s faults and Factory’s missteps business- wise, the venture certainly put a forgotten city back on the map. In the final moments, Wilson stands on the Hacienda’s roof as the sun comes up after the club’s last night and decides it was all worth it in the end, although he regrets not signing The Smiths. A couple of years later and the revitalised scene could have seen him get Oasis but dwelling on such near misses isn’t the point- Wilson took a chance, made his mark and is remembered for at least trying.

   During the Freefall Records years, Factory and this film were massive influences on us. Along with Seattle’s Sub Pop label and Henry Rollins’ SST Records, Wilson’s outfit represented both everything we aspired to become and much of what we already were. Confined to a certain “Unglamorous” locale largely ignored by the opinion makers in London and severely restrained by our financial situation, we too tried to make the problem the solution in different clothes by embracing our outsider, underground status and using it as a selling point.

   We also became more than familiar with deserted dance floors, punch- up’s at gigs, pissed off club owners banning half our bands, posters arriving after the event they were supposed to be advertising and all manner of other disasters. And there was no shortage of south coast versions of Rob Brydon’s Ryan Letts who loved it every time we fell on our arses and couldn’t wait for it all to “Fuck up in our faces”.

   But perhaps the greatest obstacle by the ’00’s was that, after Factory, the establishment were wise to Wilson’s methods and had ensured that such a movement couldn’t work the same way again. We were all but ignored by the mainstream right to the end but we’ll always be proud of having given it a go. And re-watching 24HPP for this book made me want to give it another one.