Band of misfits

However you classify it, the quirky “Frank” has charm to spare

A couple of weeks back, Michael Fassbender (“12 Years A Slave”) was on The Colbert Report. After a typically fun interview and the requisite commercial break, Fassbender reappeared, only this time on the band stage. He had donned an oversized, slightly creepy plastic head with an implacable-looking, boyish face painted on it. Maggie Gyllenhaal (“The Dark Knight”) and Domhnall Gleeson (“True Grit”), were on keyboards. With a backup rhythm section, they slid into a whimsical sounding, Doors-esque tune called “I Love You All.” The novelty of the band (and the song) were immediately disarming, between Gyllenhaal’s goofy stage moves and the ominous sight of the shrouded Fassbender affecting a Jim Morrison delivery as he sang lyrics like, “Put your arms around me, fiddly digits, itchy britches.” It was borderline surreal. And that goddamn song has been stuck in my head ever since.

At that point I had then yet to hear of Frank Sidebottom (née Chris Sievey) or the new film, “Frank,” loosely based on the cult British star’s sweetly bizarre persona. But now, “Frank” is one of my favorite films of 2014. 

It can happen that quickly.

Jon Burroughs (Gleeson) is a talentless songwriter who wanders the streets looking for the stream-of-consciousness inspiration he can’t find at his soul-deadening office gig—though he pretty much just improvises mundane lyrics and rote melodies, noting the existence of everything around him (when he’s not accidentally re-writing Madness songs). 

On a stroll by the beach he meets Don (Scoot McNairy), manager of a band with the unlikely name Soronprfbs, whose keyboard player has just tried to drown himself in the rough waves of the cold British surf. The band has a gig that night and Jon (having seen their fliers all over town) enlists as a backup keyboardist. He meets his bandmates: Clara (Gyllenhaal), Baraque (François Civil) and Nana (Carla Azar)—who all share an instant distaste for the wet-behind-the-ears (com)poser. He also meets their enigmatically weird singer, Frank (Fassbender). After an inauspicious gig that ends with Clara storming off in disgust, they part ways.

When Jon later gets a call from Don about another gig in Ireland, he takes a few days off to go on the road with the band. Turns out, the gig is actually an experimental boot camp recording session for the Soronprfbs’ first album—which irrevocably changes Jon’s life as he’s drawn into Frank’s siren presence and by the white whale of his own musical ambitions.

Jon practically finds himself on a hero’s journey to bring Frank to the attention of the world, only to discover that the observer effect won’t allow what makes Frank special to be captured like so much lightning in a bottle. As Jon grows out of his timidity and takes the reins of the band (business-wise, at least) he forgets that he was never really smart or talented enough to succeed to begin with. His hubris brings their world crashing down.

Wonderfully directed by Lenny Abrahmson and co-written by (and based on the writings of) noted journalist Jon Ronson (who is himself loosely adapted as Gleeson’s character), “Frank” is at once a subtly absurdist comedy and a weirdly affecting drama. Ronson was a collaborator with Sidebottom in the late ’80s before he became a radio host, filmmaker and wrote such well-known books as “The Men Who Stare at Goats.” Here, Ronson’s script rearranges the real-life characters of his past into a contemporary fantasy, not dissimilar from the tone of “Goats” (which was adapted into an equally quirky 2009 film starring Ewan McGregor and George Clooney). 

Ronson’s characters are eclectic, hilarious, and thoughtful. His script is rife with fine details that reward repeat viewings. There’s a good example in McNairy’s engineer/manager Don, who reveals that he met Frank in a mental hospital where he’d been committed for an odd habit. “I like to fuck mannequins. It’s a condition,” Don says. Later, when Jon is struggling to write a song, Don attempts to give him some inspiration by playing one of his own, a thinly veiled ballad about boning mannequins: “Just lie still…and let me in.” It’d be creepy if McNairy weren’t so entertainingly bent and the film so smartly written.

While all the characters enjoy such care in their realization and have their moments to shine, Frank is the fulcrum on which they all balance. Fassbender’s performance is a revelation. He imbues Frank with a child-like yet wise personality, subverting the limitations of not using his face but instead finding expression in his posture and movements. He certainly disappears into the role.

Gleeson is a fine tour guide for the story, equal parts naïve enthusiasm and crushing self-doubt. McNairy steals practically every scene he’s in as Don, while Gyllenhaal’s overt hostility gives way to sadness just when her histrionics start to wear thin. It’s the characters that drive the film more than the story, and the cast delivers in spectacular fashion (right down to performing those memorably batshit yet strangely endearing songs).

As a comedy it’s a success. As a quasi-biography it lovingly captures the spirit of its inspiration (though a third act tonal shift proves to be slightly less satisfying). As a left-field drama and rumination of the soul of an artist who can only exist by defying convention, “Frank” is an absolute joy. You haven’t seen anything else like it.

“Frank” opens at the Circle Cinema, this Friday, Sept. 5. 

For tickets visit www.circlecinema.com or call 918.585.3504