Shoplifters of the World
RLJE FILMSWe can hardly remove ourselves from the influence Morrissey, Johnny Marr and the other two had on popular music and culture as a whole. Despite this public love, their transfer to the big screen has failed time after time. England is Mine hammered home the early days of the capable singer and his crew of talented musicians, but once we move past the biographical features, it is slim pickings indeed. Shoplifters of the World caters to the late-1980s of Denver, because those are the years it can shoehorn the bulk of The Smiths’ discography into a group of misfits obsessed with the British band that birthed the popular, independent sound.
Director Stephen Kijak has honest intentions. His profile of work so far has seen him brush shoulders with the bands he seemingly loves. Bashing the bands of the time in the hopes that putting down others will elevate the band they base their basics on, Shoplifters of the World has a love for the time but falls folly to the usual clichés. The script reeks of inconsistencies. Kijak and Lorianne Hall have briefly looked upon social media at fans of The Cure and The Smiths, seen the stereotypes, and filtered them down to their barebones trivialities.
“Happy? I hate them already,” Cleo (Helena Howard) says of the Manchester band Happy Mondays. This is followed by a slow-motion shot, another close-up of her “MEATISMRDR” license plate, and then a hard cut to a man trying to have sex with a pink balloon. That is not a euphemism, nor is it necessary for Shoplifters of the World to inject into its story. Yet these are our protagonists, who complain about the humdrum lifestyles they lead. Why write interesting or deep characters when, instead, you can play There is a Light that Never Goes Out and have your ensemble group hug. Everything we could possibly need to know about them is shown here. They like music, they dress poorly and are the usual, rebellious teenagers with forgiving parents who know it is a sign of the times.
Shoplifters of the World wishes to embed a love for The Smiths without understanding why its characters should or would love the band. They take the lyrics too literally. Cutting to our protagonists driving down the road as Morrissey croons “Driving in your car,” is the barebones quality we should expect from nostalgia-hack television shows, not from films that star Ellar Coltrane or Joe Manganiello. Peel back The Smiths references and this is just a horribly written, coming-of-age car crash.