This is little long, but bear with me here because this film's worth it:
"Electric Jesus" is so many things ... and it's not: a) A comedy as much as it is a dramedy; b) A roman-à-clef as it is an ode to the soundtrack of youth; c) Strictly a teen love story, but an overarching love song to music itself.
Writer/director/co-producer Chris White deftly blends those into a cohesive story about a hair-metal band. Not just any hair-metal band, but a Christian hair-metal band, whose members emerge from a South Carolina high school circa 1986.
Southern Evangelical Christianity makes an easy target, of course, for cheap, shopworn laughs. "Electric Jesus," though, threads an expert needle between needling Bible thumpers while threading its characters together with durable strands of, uh, Christian compassion.
Set in heavy metal's heyday, the story is told through our narrator, Eric, the ultimate music nerd who lands a gig as the sound guy for the band, 316. Next thing we know, Eric and the boys go on tour, taking their music to churches, skating rinks, fellowship halls and other temptation-free establishments.
Eric and the band clearly are high on Christ. Then Sarah, a pretty young thing, stows away on 316's ratty RV whose former owner, a band, of course, graffitied "Joy Explosion." Sarah, of course, becomes Eric's love interest and she also happens to have plenty of musical talent and an agenda of her own
"Electric Jesus" undoubtedly gets plenty of John Hughes '80s teen-amour comparisons, but this film makes considerably more of that dead-on verisimilitude. (Disclaimer: I ran a concert hall for 20 years, and, I mean, I got a little PTSD watching the movie. White absolutely nails the crappy reality of bottom-tier bands' touring lives.)
The real story in "Electric Jesus" is heartbreak. Great songs that set out to break your heart do a fine job of it without coming off as self-conscious. In much the same way, this story doesn't set out to break your heart, either, but the film delights in doing exactly what good songs do.
"Electric Jesus" is so many things ... and it's not: a) A comedy as much as it is a dramedy; b) A roman-à-clef as it is an ode to the soundtrack of youth; c) Strictly a teen love story, but an overarching love song to music itself.
Writer/director/co-producer Chris White deftly blends those into a cohesive story about a hair-metal band. Not just any hair-metal band, but a Christian hair-metal band, whose members emerge from a South Carolina high school circa 1986.
Southern Evangelical Christianity makes an easy target, of course, for cheap, shopworn laughs. "Electric Jesus," though, threads an expert needle between needling Bible thumpers while threading its characters together with durable strands of, uh, Christian compassion.
Set in heavy metal's heyday, the story is told through our narrator, Eric, the ultimate music nerd who lands a gig as the sound guy for the band, 316. Next thing we know, Eric and the boys go on tour, taking their music to churches, skating rinks, fellowship halls and other temptation-free establishments.
Eric and the band clearly are high on Christ. Then Sarah, a pretty young thing, stows away on 316's ratty RV whose former owner, a band, of course, graffitied "Joy Explosion." Sarah, of course, becomes Eric's love interest and she also happens to have plenty of musical talent and an agenda of her own
"Electric Jesus" undoubtedly gets plenty of John Hughes '80s teen-amour comparisons, but this film makes considerably more of that dead-on verisimilitude. (Disclaimer: I ran a concert hall for 20 years, and, I mean, I got a little PTSD watching the movie. White absolutely nails the crappy reality of bottom-tier bands' touring lives.)
The real story in "Electric Jesus" is heartbreak. Great songs that set out to break your heart do a fine job of it without coming off as self-conscious. In much the same way, this story doesn't set out to break your heart, either, but the film delights in doing exactly what good songs do.