Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Runnin’ Down a Dream (2007)

Peter Bogdanovich’s Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Runnin’ Down a Dream proves once again that even the most overused of formulas can be rewarding in the right hands. The formula in this case is the Behind the Music style documentary or, if we wish to be so bold, the “rock doc.” Bogdanovich doesn’t reinvent the cliches or the visual grammar of the genre (talking heads, archive footage) but he does transcend them. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Runnin’ Down a Dream is a treat, an exhilaration, and it says something about Bogdanovich’s smooth craftsmanship that you, for once, want to swallow the film’s Kool-Aid. You don’t feel hustled or cheated; you go along with the good time flow.

It should be said, of course, that Runnin’ Down a Dream (lame title) is going to be more of a pleasure for those who actually, you know, enjoy Tom Petty and his music. It seems that Tom Petty, like Steven Spielberg, is a foregone conclusion, so acclaimed in their field that they might actually be underrated. Saying you like Tom Petty has become a boring thing to say, and some may have even grown to resent the continued love for him, or the fact that he’s become another of these rockers that has kept rocking well into their third decade of output. A complaint I hear from many is that his music is too “simple.”

This complaint must be prevalent, because it is worked into the narrative of Dream, which has an appealingly free form structure. Bogdanovich doesn’t chart a typical rise, fall, rise, rise, fall scenario with obligatory hope at the end; Dream is instead structured like an actual piece of rock journalism, with digressions, episodes, little self-contained narrative atoms that cohere to tell a story of the band’s albums, their experience, etc. Petty is essentially allowed to narrate his own story through an assemblege of interviews and he emerges the same strange, charismatic figure that he always has, part country boy, part scarecrow, the rare rock star who feels authentically vulnerable. The film manages the tricky tone of honoring Petty, of seeing the glass primarily only half full, without appearing to kiss his ass.

This generosity is also extended to Dream’s running time. At just under four hours, the films feels roomy as opposed to bloated, which is a danger with that kind of length. We don’t feel as if our hand is being tugged from one hit to another in time for the next ad for Gatorade or Nikes. When the film builds to the playing of a song, YOU ACTUALLY HEAR THE ENTIRE SONG. The songs are allowed to act as catharsis, the reward of withstanding long studio hours, bickering, egos, and other production antics. Runnin’ Down a Dream catches, fleetingly, and lightly, the joy of creation. This is the benefit of having a major filmmaker behind the scenes, it served Bob Dylan in the brilliant No Direction Home, and it serves Petty here. Someone (maybe Dylan) said that all directors want to be rock stars, and that all rock stars want to be directors. I can buy that, the empathy here is palpable.

★★★½

Posted on December 5th, 2007 in 2007, Reviews, Documentary |

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