Release Date: October 20, 1995
Starring: Anthony LaPaglia, Maxwell Caulfield, Rory Cochrane, Ethan Embry, Renee Zellweger, Liv Tyler, Robin Tunney, Ben Bode
Directed by: Allan Moyle
Distributed by: Warner Brothers
MPAA Rating: PG-13 (language, sexual situations, a drug issue)
Hollywood is a business, and in business three things are important: timing, timing, and timing. Perhaps it was "location, location, location," but for the purposes of this review it's when things occurred, not where they occurred. And the release of Empire Records occurred at least twelve to fifteen months prior to the teen comedy boom that's taken the motion picture industry by storm over the last four years. Why isn't it on the tip of everyone's tongues, then, when people talk about the latest wannabe party movie? Because it suffered from severe underdistribution, and lesson number two about business is that it doesn't matter where you are and it doesn't matter when you're there if nobody sees you. By the end of its domestic run, it had amassed slightly over $300,000, which is barely a measurable fraction of what most widely-distributed films will make on their opening weekend alone. And so a perfectly fine film with a bit of smarts and a quick-and-easy running time of 90 minutes undeservingly breathes dust on the genre shelves at Blockbuster.
The film details a day in the lives of several outrageous characters who work at a Southern California-esque record store, albeit minus the idiosyncrasies and stereotypes that the rest of the nation would expect to be associated with the inferred SoCal setting. If you had to pick a name for said day, it might be Rex Manning Day, because the title's Empire Records is hosting a publicity appearance for has-been rock star Rex Manning (played with a perfect overabundance of sleaze by Maxwell Caulfield).
But Manning is sort of a side show to the movie's main theme, which is a well-disguised celebration of independent business in America. Okay -- maybe that's giving Empire Records more credit than is due, but it's basically there: Empire Records is on the verge of being sold out to national record store chain MusicTown by its owner, Mitchell (Ben Bode, another sleazeball), but not if the store's manager, Joe (Anthony LaPaglia), has anything to say about it. Unfortunately, he's low on cash because his night manager, Lucas (Rory Cochrane), has gambled away the previous day's deposit. But in the face of adversity, Joe, Lucas, and their fellow employees band together to raise money in the typical teen comedy way (hold an impromptu concert with "Damn the Man!" as the slogan) with hopes of buying Empire Records and scoring one in the battle against Big Business.
Along the way, there are a few other subplots thrown in, such as the catfight-waiting-to-happen between slutty, short-skirted employee Gina (Renee Zellweger) and depressed, reclusive employee Debra (Robin Tunney); or alternatively between slutty, short-skirted Gina and braniac speed addict Corey (Liv Tyler). The highlight, though, is Mark, the goofball played by Ethan Embry, whose omnipresent nature comes in handy when the movie becomes dangerously boring or brainless. If it costs $2.50 to rent Empire Records, then Embry's character is worth at least a buck seventy-five.
Of course, this isn't to say that Empire Records doesn't have its uninspired moments, because it's a teen comedy and the best you can hope for is a very low number of such moments. The most outstanding stinker is the lounge area that's conveniently located in a back room off the store's floor area -- most of the action takes place here, although at times the entire cast is in the back room. Who's running the joint? But it's a record store, one of several hip-and-trendy places of employment for the teenage demographic, and through the skewed vision of Hollywood, this is what record store employees do on the job.
But if you can stomach the lackluster writing and third-year-of-film-school-style directing (the former courtesy Carol Heikkinen and the latter courtesy Allan Moyle, neither of which are remotely responsible for any noteworthy films of the last five years), then Empire Records is your movie. It's a light and breeze slice-of-life type of pic, and it definitely does not take itself seriously (probably the number one pitfall of most teen comedies since 1995). Don't be seduced by flashier films under bigger labels -- damn the man, and give this film its due.
all contents © 1997, 2000 Craig Roush