For evidence that mavericks and freaks were given the keys to the store in late-'60s Hollywood, one need look no further than Performance. Rigorously psychedelic, structurally unsound, sexually omnivorous, Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg's grand experiment riffed on identity, stardom, art, and violence at a time when cinema was beginning to tear itself apart. The fact that the film starred Mick Jagger at the height of his Satanic majesty was just one of the cosmic jokes at the center of this subversive masterpiece.
Jagger's participation, and the promise of a teenybopper audience, was the reason Warner Bros. agreed to put the thing out, despite the inexperience of the two directors and the abstruse "plot," which can be synopsized thus: When a Cockney gangster (James Fox) puts his boss in danger by killing a rival thug (who probably used to be his boyfriend), he hides out in the mansion of a reclusive rock star (Jagger). While there, he has sex with the rock star's two live-in Eurotrash girlfriends (Anita Pallenberg, Michèle Breton), gets dosed with a magic mushroom, and changes identities with the rock star—metaphysically, and, uh, literally; the final shot of the film suggests that they have merged into one being, or that perhaps they always were.
So, yeah, kind of like A Hard Day's Night.
The studio was so dismayed by the film they received that they shelved it for two years. The version that was eventually released is more or less the version that has FINALLY made it onto DVD after years in the out-of-print VHS ghetto. "More or less" because the DVD release restores 31 seconds (yes, 31 seconds) that were trimmed from the European cut, and which purists have long lamented. (I've seen Performance at least 50 times and I couldn't tell the difference, for what it's worth.)
The transfer is impeccable. The bonus documentaries are pretty good. The only problem with the DVD is the restoration of the original soundtrack. For the U.S. release of this quintessentially British film, the studio redubbed the audio tracks of two characters, fearing that their accents might make it impossible for Yank audiences to understand the dialogue. Hence, a child maid was revoiced by a grown woman pretending to be a kid, resulting in two massively annoying scenes. With the original voice in place, the character's expository role becomes more surreal and effective. More problematic is the restored voice of crime boss Harry Flowers, played by actual London gangster Johnny Shannon and revoiced by an unknown British actor. The original track is jarring—not because it's unintelligible; anyone glancingly versant in UK cinema post—Get Carter will be fine. What's stunning is how much softer, less professional, and therefore creepier Shannon's voice is. And how wrong. Whoever that anonymous voiceover artist was, he now owns the role of Flowers, at least to American Performance cultists—which means the studio tampering has become the artwork.
If Cammell hadn't killed himself after some particularly drastic studio tampering on his final film (Wild Side), he might have appreciated the irony.
