..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Michael Wilmington

At first glance, the bantamweight indie contender Great World of Sound would seem incapable of competing for a slice of the pie against movies boasting such talent as Jodie Foster, Viggo Mortensen, Brad Pitt and the Rock. Nor would the inexperienced and unassuming writer-director Craig Zobel appear capable of holding his own against such heavyweights as Ang Lee, Wes Anderson, David Cronenberg and Robert Benton.

Seems a bit unfair, doesn't it?

Zobel's freshman effort is only being shown in a handful of theaters at the moment, so it won't make much of a dent in the weekend box-office. Even so, this underdog deserves a shot at success.

Shot largely in the kind of non-descript chain motels favored by budget-conscious salesmen and road-weary motorists, Great World of Sound spins a bittersweet yarn about hit-and-run con artists, American Idol wanna-bes, shattered dreams and broken promises. That it is set in Zobel's native South, and is informed by the misdeeds of his own father, only makes the cautionary tale that much better.

Great World of Sound, named after the sham recording company at the center of the film, is exactly the kind of movie that arrives at Sundance unheralded, and emerges a week later as a critics' darling. Typically, that wouldn't be enough to ensure distribution, let alone profits, but it's a start.

As co-creator of the popular Flash-animated website, Homestar Runner, Zobel may also be able to marshal an army of hard-core Internet geeks to storm theaters on opening weekend. From there, though, Magnolia Pictures will depend almost exclusively on the kindly buzz of strangers. For any Sundance survivor, a dependency on positive word-of-mouth goes with the territory.

Pardon that cliché, but, on the subject of GWS, there's no way to resist references to Arthur Miller's masterpiece, Death of a Salesman. Nor is it possible to avoid comparisons, however indirect, to the Maysles Brothers' Salesman, David Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross, Barry Levinson's Tin Men, Danny Boyle's Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise and, yes, Meredith Wilson and Franklin Lacey's The Music Man.

Unlike the corrupt cop and rackets boss who get stung in the The Sting, the targets of GWS behave like sheep anxious to be fleeced. Some of them can carry a tune and write decent-enough lyrics, but most wouldn't make the cut for an American Idol gag reel. What all the marks have in common, however, is an inability to resist exchanging hard-earned dollars for a bogus recording session and a pipe full of dreams.

Veteran character actors Pat Healy and Kene Holliday are terrific as a salt-and-pepper sales team. Like the hapless musicians, Martin and Clarence will become pawns in a larger game being played by their bosses at GWS. Not only does Martin buy into their pitch, but the former radio-station employee also has convinced himself he'll be able to recognize a potential hit song or future Kelly Clarkson, and, in doing so, help everyone realize the dream of scoring a chart-busting single.

GWS brass couldn't care less. All they want to do is accumulate the checks mailed to them from their salesmen, withhold the commissions owed them and blow town before the rubes begin to smell a rat.

"It's called 'song sharking,' and it flourished in the '60s and '70s," explains Zobel, a 1999 graduate of the North Carolina School of the Arts. "The practice died down a bit with the rise of home-recording equipment, but has come back. Today, sharking schemes are more prevalent in the country- and gospel-music genres because the musicians are less likely to be educated about how the record industry works."

Not even the sales reps are fully aware of the intricacies of the con. Everyone is too busy counting their imaginary money to sweat the details.

"The American Dream no longer is to provide a better life for your family," the filmmaker adds. "It's to be rich and famous, like J-Lo. In making the film, we found that people were willing to go against their instincts -- to let themselves be scammed -- only to indulge in the possible existence of a shortcut to fame … just like on TV.

"When something like this comes along, they really want it to be true. They want someone to validate their talent."

The same holds true for the salesmen. All it takes for Clarence to feel appreciated is the use of a company cellphone.

Not that the filmmakers themselves weren't above employing a bit of chicanery. To make their movie look as accurate as was possible on a miniscule budget, Charlotte area aspirants were encouraged to audition for what they expected to be a non-existent recording gig. In fact, it was a clandestine casting session, complete with hidden cameras and one-way mirrors.

Strictly speaking, what the filmmakers did wasn't kosher, and they know it. If nothing else, it gave the musicians a down payment on their 15 minutes of fame and an opportunity to see immortalized on the big screen. Cocktail waitresses and pool skimmers in L.A. have killed for less.

"Naturally, the musicians were disappointed the auditions weren't real," allowed Zobel, who was required to acquire signed clearances from the patsies. "We tried to be as sensitive and sincere as possible, so as not to embarrass anyone. We sprinkled in a few ringers, and they were the ones who sang the worst."

Pat Healy, the Steppenwolf Theater alum who played Martin, was quick to defend the motivations of his character.

"Rationally, intellectually, he sensed their was something fishy about the job, but he ignored the red flags," Healy observed. "He and his partner wanted to find someone good, so everyone could make money. This was their defense."

Indeed, Martin was completely won over by a young woman, with a remarkable voice, who sang a rambling patriotic ode, The New National Anthem. For future reference: the singer was played by Tricia Paoluccio, currently plying her trade on Broadway in Fiddler on the Roof..

According to Healy, it was Martin's "glamorous illusion" that he could use his position in GWS to help the singer, Gloria, become a genuine star. After lending her the money she needs for a recording session, he expects his bosses to be impressed, as well.

Without giving too much away, this liaison ultimately threatens Martin and Clarence's friendship and future livelihoods.

"My father was a phony record producer for a company just like this in the late '70s," Zobel said. "He left after he got stuck with a one-way ticket, and no way to get home. The company was padlocked by the IRS, and the owners just split one day. They ran off with a $50,000 Western Union wire transfer and the $5,000 that was supposed to be his commission."

To be fair, Zobel added, "My father was a bit less innocent about what he was doing than Martin and Clarence."

Great World of Sound already has opened to excellent reviews in New York, and will move to Los Angeles this weekend.

Fliers alerting "ALL Musicians" to Great World of Sound "auditions" on opening day are being used as a guerrilla-marketing technique. Among the mock hype and directions, the ad asks, "Do you have what it takes to be a star?"

Everyone in Los Angeles thinks they have what it takes to be a star, otherwise they wouldn't be there. How many have learned Lesson 1, "Never use your own money," remains open to question.

Fortunately, if the worst-case scenario played out here, it would only mean an aspiring musician was conned out of the price of a phone call to a service in the 206 area code promoting the Great World of Sound.


September 27, 2007

- Gary Dretzka

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