Movie Review: We Were Famous, You Don’t Remember — The Embarrassment

3.5 stars out of 5

Sometime in the late ‘90s, I picked up a used CD by The Embarrassment. It was selections from a two-disc compilation released by Hoboken’s own Bar/None Records, and there was a quote from Freedy Johnston on the back. OK, good enough for me. But I must admit, I didn’t spend a ton of time listening to that album — I don’t think it really grabbed me on first spin — and I dutifully filed it away under E on my shelves.

Last week I dug out that disc, from in-between Joe Ely and The English Beat, to put myself in the mood for this unlikely documentary. (Or perhaps I should say inevitable documentary in this current content-craving climate.)

The film makes the case that The Embarrassment’s isolated home base of Wichita, Kansas, both helped turn them into something special while also preventing them from reaching greater heights. Without any real “native culture,” they were able to absorb influences and references from everywhere, and developed within a fairly insular scene with no one to tell them to do it differently. The band blossomed into big fish in this small Midwestern pond.

There is a decent amount of video footage of The Embarrassment from the late ‘70s to the early ‘80s, and also current interviews with the band members and various talking heads (alas not the Talking Heads) including Evan Dando and the aforementioned Freedy. So we get to see the youthful joy of the band hitting their groove and trying to find a wider audience, while staying true to their nerdy, quirky sensibilities.

Spoiler alert: They never quite reach that bigger audience. They tour, they record, they do get a following, they are mentioned in Rolling Stone, and Jonathan Freaking Demme even sends a letter on their behalf to A&M Records, but… as is so often the case, life gets in the way, and The Embarrassment give up the ghost without becoming one of the “known” alternative bands of the 1980s. So the guys are left with what-ifs: if only they had moved to New York, or if they had just stuck around another year or two, etc. etc.

There is an oddly long time range in the “modern-day” interviews — it turns out this film was cobbled together by two directors (Daniel Fetherston and Danny Szlauderbach) who eventually learned they were both making documentaries about the same band. How Embarrassing! Though what was gained in more footage, research, and resources is perhaps offset here by a lack of one director’s “vision” for the project.

And a pet peeve that I had also noticed in the Go-Go’s documentary: conveniently no mention of a reunion album (1990) or that Bar/None compilation (1995) that likely brought the band the most attention they’ve ever had. That wouldn’t fit the legend and story arc of the Completely Forgotten Underground Band, rediscovered by the dogged documentarian (or in the Go-Go’s case, finally putting aside their personal gripes and triumphantly reuniting for the first time). But, if you’re trying to make a definitive documentary, the facts need to be in there.

Fans of indie music and rock docs will appreciate this film, even if it’s a different take on a story you’ve likely heard about other bands. As for me, I gave that old CD yet another listen a few days after seeing the documentary, and, I think I finally “get it”!