Select the correct sentiment of the following review: If you hit your teens in the 70s, as I did, you probably remember the stories about Studio 54 whether or not you liked disco. An exclusive club, it was the perfect symbol of 70s cultural overindulgence and self-absorption; there's even an excellent VH1 documentary about the club that could tell you everything you wanted to know about its heyday, and the stories are easily interesting enough to spawn a very captivating film.

Sadly, this isn't it. 54 follows the lives of a few of its employees, a bartender named Shane (Ryan Phillippe), a busboy named Greg (Breckin Meyer), his wife, a coat-check girl, Anita (Selma Hayek), and of course the master of ceremonies himself, Steve Rubell (Mike Meyers). While the goings-on at the club are well represented, this film concerns itself more with the personal lives of the workers, following Shane's story the closest.

The movie works in spurts. Sometimes it captures perfectly the shallowness of the nightlife culture (such as when Shane is taken to a dinner party and doesn't know who 'Errol Flynt' is), and other times it waxes into hokey melodrama. Some of that is inherent in the premise following the underlings as they mingle in the world of the rich and fabulous but a lot of it is due to the kid-gloved treatment with which both the club and Rubell are given throughout the movie. While Rubell certainly electrified the scene in New York with his penchant for over-the-top spectacle and his exclusive hand-picking of the crowds each night, the rampant drugs and sexuality are only briefly touched on; and Rubell himself, while his excesses are mentioned, come off oddly positive for a guy who was in life a liar, a cheat, a drug abuser, and promiscuous as all hell. Not that I was looking for the man to be pilloried here, but his ego directly contributed to the fall of his club and the diminishing of the nightlife culture he helped to elevate. A final scene where he gazes down at the regulars paternally is so emotionally false as to be patently absurd.

Meyers does his best to capture Rubell, but he's given so little to work with here it's surprising his performance is effective; but he's good, and he helps to anchor the film. Philippe, whom I find generally to be a good actor, is hamstrung here by the shallowness and stupidity of his character; he's limited to a deer-in-the-headlights smile or a sullen uncomprehending frown, and even he can't translate that into a strong performance. Hayek and Meyer are both okay, again, undercut by the writing, and Neve Campbell prominently featured on the DVD cover appears so briefly she really has an extended cameo.

For some reason I still find myself interested, even fascinated, by the popular culture of the second half of the seventies. But even given that, this is not a film that particularly engaged me, despite a predisposition to like it. I'd say if that era, or that club, has any interest for you, track down the VH1 special rather than this middle-of-the-road melodrama.
Choices:
[I] negative.
[II] positive.
[I]