Band Boy: The Return of the Ragamuffins a review by Dan Marcus In the wide-ranging genre of rock and roll films—from Rock Around the Clock (1956) to The Commitments (1991) to Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)—Band Boy may just be the most rock and roll of the bunch…as encapsulated in the name of the fictitious group featured: the Ragamuffins of Love. On one hand, it displays a gritty, seat-of-your-pants quality à la Don’t Look Back, the documentary about Bob Dylan’s 1965 concert tour of England. On the other, the film’s visual style reflects its subject from a completely diametrical angle—it utilizes the creative artifice that’s part and parcel of the entertainment world, most specifically the kind of reality-bending associated with the art of cinema from its inception. These include unexpected intercuts, sudden scene shifts that make perfect sense subjectively if not literally, the incorporation of found footage to establish mood and context, and the use of rear projection…or, more precisely, green screen, its modern-day equivalent. But writer/director Sandy McKnight takes it one playful step further. In one “rear-projection” sequence, where protagonist Eff Dupp is seen standing against a background of highway traffic, the scale of the projection is obviously mismatched with the foreground—the vehicles behind Eff are enlarged beyond all proportion. Besides offering a conspiratorial nod to the audience, the technique underscores the challenge facing a young artist seeking to raise his stature in the world. That being said, the most striking special effect in Band Boy is rooted, not in technological wizardry, but in the dialogue. Those familiar with Mr. McKnight’s literary and theatrical oeuvre will recognize his unique, da-da-esque use of language peppered with puns, pivots, and twists of phrase. To provide examples at this point would require the inclusion in this review of spoiler alerts, an approach to which this correspondent is not prepared to succumb. Especially in the case of a film as inventive as this one, the viewer is best left to his own experience. This is not the first iteration of his central creation…the Ragamuffins of Love have appeared before on long-playing record and in a short film, functioning as a sort of musical avatar and erstwhile doppelgänger for their creator. But this time they take center stage in a full-blown origin story that’s relatable to anyone who’s ever played in a rock-and-roll band…in fact, to anyone who’s ever done anything deemed by the establishment to be against the odds. Here, art imitates life to a tee—Sandy McKnight has long been regarded as a world-class triple-hyphenate (singer/songwriter/musician) who marches to his own drummer…in this case, literally. Whatever his imagination might churn up, his feet are firmly planted on a foundation of reality, though that foundation sometimes seems to consist of shifting sand, the “nature of the beats,” no doubt, for a diehard rock and roller. For Band Boy, McKnight did everything short of punching out the sprocket holes…a task fortunately not required with today’s technology. Besides serving as producer, director, and screenwriter, he wrote or co-wrote all twenty songs on the film’s soundtrack. Some are performed onscreen; others are employed in transitional sequences that support the narrative. Remarkably, every last one is a standout…no filler to be found. One song, however, represents a departure from the above motif. “Queen of R&B” is performed by soul-diva-supreme Wanda Houston in a surprise guest appearance. She sings it seated at a table in a club opposite Amadou, the Ragamuffin’s drummer. The lyric tells of her struggles to make it as a singer in the 1960s, that decade of turbulent change in race relations and American society in general. The presumably off-the-cuff performance is interspersed with news footage from the period, including the infamous but ubiquitous signs declaring “whites only.” Both the song and Ms. Houston’s performance are a tour de force. They present a life lesson and cautionary tale to Amadou as he pursues his own musical dream—while simultaneously lending both the Ragamuffins’ quest and the film itself a well-deserved dollop of gravitas. One would be amiss indeed to conclude this discussion without mention of a critical factor that has been the downfall of many a low-budget, non-mainstream film. Namely, the casting. It’s been said that in life nothing is perfect, but on this score the director comes damn near close. Like Harrison Ford in Spielberg’s Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, he chose wisely. And the players, for their part, return the compliment in spades. Marc A. Contento, Mary Liz Adams, Steven Sawan, and Sam Kombo portray the Ragamuffins, the interplay of their disparate perspectives comprising the heart of the story. Andrew Joffe and Sherman Howard are the hilariously out-of-touch manager and songwriter, respectively, who enter the band’s low-rent world with the glittering promise of a record deal. In addition, the actors who inhabit the smaller roles all have their individual moments in the sun while collectively providing the film with a reality base amidst the fanciful production design. As a living, breathing Easter egg for McKnight followers, Liv Cummins—his longtime collaborator on various projects and this film’s executive producer—contributes a comic turn as Eff’s addled, advice-rendering stepmother. Those whose concept of popular music is defined by Taylor Swift videos would do well to spend some quality time with the Ragamuffins of Love. (No disrespect intended to the talented Ms. Swift and her vast legion of enthusiastic fans.) In its rough-edged exuberance, Band Boy provides tangible evidence that Marshall McLuhan was right: the medium is indeed the message, no auto-tune necessary. - Dan Marcus is a pop culture critic, composer, and managing editor of AMASS magazine.