published online: September 24, 2000 "Almost Famous" discovers virtues in uncoolness By Henry Y. Chung

In "Broadway Danny Rose," Woody Allen shrewdly articulates his philosophy of life as acceptance, forgiveness and love. In "Almost Famous," Director Cameron Crowe also tells a charming story that involves these three values. That is not surprising since Crowe's last film "Jerry Maguire" was the 90's version of "Danny Rose, " in which Tom Cruise plays an agent, not unlike Allen's Danny, who manages the worst possible clients. Allen's influence on Crowe is eminent, but Crowe, being a clever director and a brilliant writer, takes on a different direction and polishes a semi-autobiographical masterpiece. "Almost Famous," Crowe's most autonomous film to date, is an uncompromising fable about Rock N'Roll and complex human relationships.

Of course, my intention is not to solely review the film. Indeed, this column aims to celebrate my long-awaited comeback to journalism after three months of extreme disarray and disorientation, or put simply, a long vacation. For those who are reading this piece right now, you should consider yourselves very lucky to join me in yet another attempt of self-realization.

I watched "Almost Famous" last Friday in New York City, after my largely pleasant interview with a law firm of my dreams. It's time to relax after an exhausting day, I thought, and to enjoy a movie that I have anticipated for months. So I entered the cinema, sat down and reminded myself that I could still stay focused without greasy popcorns. I kind of knew what the movie was about beforehand, but it surprisingly met my high expectations.

A short synopsis of the film: 15-year-old William Miller (played by Patrick Fugit) is a Rolling Stone journalist and a rock music lover who decides to go on the road with a rock band called "Stillwater" despite his mother's (Frances McDormand) fierce disagreement. "Don't take drugs" was one of her demands upon William's entry to a rock concert. During the trip, he befriended the band's lead guitarist Russell (Billy Crudup) and a lovely groupie who is a self-proclaimed "Band-Aid," Penny Lane (a show-stopping turn from the irresistible Kate Hudson). A love triangle is then formed between the three and William soon realizes he has made friends with the rock stars, a forbidden zone warned by a fellow journalist, Lester Bangs (played masterfully by Philip Seymour Hoffman).

The movie is about a kid who turns from an "uncool" character - who used to get rejected three times by the doorman from entering Stillwater's backstage - to his gradual acceptance by the band members. He has formed an indestructible friendship with Russell, the guitarist with mystique. William also has a close relationship with Penny Lane, who "feels comfortable around him." As Lester later congratulates William on the phone, "Oh, no. They think you're cool. I met you. You're not cool."

We often try to be cool so that we can be accepted. That's why we wear certain clothes, get certain haircuts and eat certain brands of cereal. It's inevitable that human beings want to be liked, respected and adored. I once was uncool like William. I used to be rejected by many people (I'm still rejected by many people). My problem is that I have a photographic memory and I hardly forget things about people.

My high school reunion last summer turned out to be a disaster. I made a pivotal mistake - I mentioned to my old schoolmates things that I remembered about them, such as where they went to college, where they were from and their favorite color. However, my sincere attempt to strike a conversation was under-appreciated. My fellow alumni thought I was a stalker when they couldn't give the same details about me. They become embarrassed to a point they got angry. One of them even said, "Have you been reading the phone book lately?" Thank god that was only our five-year reunion. I can't imagine what would occur in 50 years.

So my kind-hearted gesture to solicit acceptance turned sour. And after all these years, I am still uncool - I am laconic and socially inapt. I listen to music that no other teenagers like. I like spending time alone than with others. However, Crowe's message is clear - an uncool person still serves important functions. William, for instance, writes great rock columns. Therefore, the rock band and the Band-Aids admire William because William is dedicated to his own work.

I was 15 when I first came to America for high school. I had no friends and I used to sit alone in the cafeteria during lunch and dinner. Because of language barriers and culture differences, it was very hard to make friends at first. But I worked hard academically and I tired to reach out to everyone socially. One day in November, three fellow students who lived in my dorm decided to sit with me after they had already sat down at another table. "Let's sit with Henry," one of them said, after seeing me alone at my table. They then brought their trays and walked towards my table. I remembered I felt cool for the first time.

Now I have put the unpleasant debacle of my high school reunion past me. Crowe's film teaches me to dedicate my effort to what I'm good at. As long as I know that somehow, somewhere, there is someone thinking of me as a cool person, even if it's only one person, I'll keep doing what I do best - write, listen to good music and keep telling people what I remember of them. And if that's not good enough, I'll sing.