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5.6/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.6/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Radia-Tors remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you don't care about New Orleans rock or jam bands that smell like stale beer and swamp water, you should probably skip this one. Honestly, you'll just see a bunch of older guys playing long guitar solos and wonder what the big deal is.
But if you grew up with this sound, Radia-Tors is basically a funeral where everyone is invited to dance on the coffin. It is worth watching just to see Tipitina’s one more time before everything became so polished and corporate.
The movie starts with an acoustic set. It is quiet. Almost too quiet for a band known for being a 'fish-head' party machine.
You can hear the floorboards creaking. It feels like the band is just playing in someone's living room, which is a weird way to start a goodbye.
Jasper Ewing Brady shows up and you can tell there is a lot of history in the room. Not the kind of history they teach in schools, but the kind that involves late nights and lost keys.
I noticed one shot where the camera lingers on a fan’s face for way too long. He’s just closing his eyes and nodding, and for a second, it feels like the movie forgot it was supposed to be filming the band.
It’s moments like that where you realize this isn't a professional Hollywood production. It’s a home movie with a much better soundboard.
By the time they get to the electric stuff on the final night, the vibe changes completely. The energy is just different when the drums kick in for real.
When they play 'Monkey Meet,' the whole place seems to shake. The camera actually wobbles because the floor is bouncing so much.
I love that they didn't try to fix the shaky footage. It makes it feel like you’re actually standing in the middle of the crowd getting bumped by strangers.
The highlight for me was 'River Run.' They weave in 'Over Under Sideways Down' and it just goes on and on in the best way possible.
It’s the kind of guitar work that makes you want to go buy a Fender and then immediately realize you’ll never be that good. It’s effortless but looks exhausting at the same time.
I did find myself checking the time during some of the slower jams. Even for a fan, thirty-three years of career highlights is a lot to pack into one sitting.
The editing is a bit jumpy. Sometimes it cuts from a close-up of a guitar to a wide shot that feels like it’s from a completely different night.
Maybe it is. I don't really care. The feeling of the Last Watusi is what matters here, not the continuity of the bass player's shirt.
Speaking of things that feel out of place, I kept thinking about The Ballyhoo Buster while watching the crowd scenes. There is that same sense of people just wanting to be part of a moment before it disappears forever.
There is no big speech at the end. No dramatic walk-off into the sunset. They just play the music and then it’s over.
It’s a bit like Gorira in how it just stomps through everything until there’s nothing left to say. But with more cowbell.
I think the movie gets better if you turn the volume up way louder than your neighbors would like. It needs that thump in your chest to really work.
It isn't a masterpiece of cinema. It’s just a very honest look at a band that knew exactly who they were and didn't want to be anything else.
If you're looking for a plot, go watch The Branded Four or something with a script. This is just life happening on a stage.
I’m glad they caught it on tape, even if the lens gets a little foggy from the humidity. That’s just New Orleans for you. 🎷
The credits roll and you just feel... tired. But the good kind of tired. Like you stayed at the party just long enough to see the best part.
I'll probably watch the 'River Run' segment again tomorrow. The rest of it? Maybe once a year when I'm feeling nostalgic for a city that doesn't exist like this anymore.
IMDb 6
1922
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