School of Rock: Just roll with it

If one thing is clear after watching School of Rock, it's that subtlety is not in Jack Black's vocabulary. Black is the reigning king of a wildly exuberant, unabashedly narcissistic form of comedy that revolves around him being as loud and outrageous as possible. The incredible charisma he brings to School of Rock infuses the movie's predictable storyline and clichéd characters with such boundless energy that you can't help but be swept up into the wake of his mayhem.

School of Rock marks Black's long-awaited return to form after performing in such lackluster flops as Shallow Hal and Orange County. Not only have his recent projects been chock-full of uncomfortable, gross-out humor, but they have at times required actual acting. Not so in School of Rock. I don't think Black expressed one genuine emotion in the entire course of this 108 minute movie. The freedom from the restraint of awkward emoting allows him to bring to the screen the same electrifying presence evident in his performance as Barry, the irate record store clerk who belittled his customers and searched for a band in 2000's High Fidelity.

And in many ways School of Rock picks up with Dewey Finn, Black's character, right where High Fidelity left off with Barry. Dewey is the lead guitarist in garage band that is quickly head-banging its way to the bottom of local club playlists, aided in its supreme suckiness by Dewey's embarrassing onstage antics. Feeling upstaged, Dewey's bandmates oust him from the lineup, and (oh the humiliation!) replace him with a young lad named Spider. But the critical Battle of the Bands is just weeks away, and now Dewey is without a band with which to battle.

Dewey's fortunes continues to plunge when his wimpy roommate Ned Schneebly (Mike White, who is also the screenwriter) is swayed by his overbearing girlfriend Patty (Sarah Silverman) into demanding Dewey actually pay his share of the rent, or at least contribute to society. Ned is unswayed by Dewey's explanation, "Dude, I service society by rocking." In need of money, Dewey pretends to be Ned, a substitute teacher, and accepts a long-term sub position at a prestigious private elementary school.

The plot is exactly the big cliché that you expect: At the school, Dewey meets a host of proper, Harvard-bound youngsters whom he will teach to de-stress and rock out in a manner befitting small children whilst they confer upon him some semblance of maturity. Dewey discovers that most of his pupils are musical prodigies, from Zack (Joey Gaydos), the shy guitarist who isn't allowed to play anything but classical music to Kevin (Kevin Clark), the repressed drummer who takes far too much pleasure in banging cymbals during his boring music class. Alá Sister Act 2, Dewey forms the class into a rock band, hoping to win the all-important Battle of the Bands competition. Faced with more children than he has room for in a band, Dewey assigns the rest of the class into three groups: security (their job is to make sure that no one, most of all no parent, finds out about the band), roadies (they must design the light show, handle the band's equipment, etc.) and groupies (their job is to "worship the band").

Though the story is criminally predictable, you end up not caring, because Dewey is so exhaustingly kinetic and hysterical. His tendency to obsess about minutiae as though it would cause nuclear devastation never fails to raise a laugh. When he finds out that no one in the class has heard of Led Zeppelin, his eyes twitch, his voice squeaks, and I swear he was about to have an apoplectic fit. Also, the influence of Tenacious D, Black's band, is heavily evident, as Dewey composes inane tunes off the top of his head and sings everyday conversations.

As great as the kids are (the actors play their own instruments) and as funny as Black is, the classroom scenes eventually become much less amusing because of their redundancy. Mix them up, run it backwards, it wouldn't make a difference: The middle half of this movie is all the same. Luckily, School of Rock has an ace up its sleeve by the name of Joan Cusack, a fellow High Fidelity alum. She plays the uber-uptight principal Rosalie Mullins, and School of Rock takes a wonderful risk in humanizing its villain. Mullins isn't mean, she's just stressed and misunderstood. So Dewey gets her drunk and has her lip-synching to Stevie Nicks to loosen her up. Cusack's considerable comic talent is on display—watching her drink beer is like watching your grandmother do so. She purses her lips, takes a sip, and blows across the top as though to cool it off, all the while sneaking covert glances around the bar as though one of the parents of her pupils might be watching, lawsuit in hand. For a few scenes Black isn't simply acting into a void; Cusack is there to respond and provoke.

Though Black can't resist a few inappropriate jokes and White can't resist adding a multitude of mushy clichés, the sheer comic vivacity of School of Rock lets the movie groove along splendidly. It takes the audience nowhere new, but sometimes all you need is a little old fashioned rock and roll.

School of Rock is rated PG-13 for some rude humor and drug references.