(Dirs. Bruce Ashley and Michael Donald)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

52-week film challenge, film 33

I love documentaries, but not many of them get a theatrical release (this one didn’t either, apart from a debut screening in London) so I haven’t included them thus far in the Film Challenge, but this one touches on a topic near and dear to me. The New Romantic movement was not the first musical statement of my generation — that would of course be Punk — but it was the one that resonated more deeply than any other before or since.

Blitzed! is a reflective look back on the key movers and prominent regulars who came together in 1979 originally in celebration of the glam-rock period and then-current resurrection of David Bowie, creating a much-needed escape from the UK’s Winter of Discontent the same year. The doc spends its first 10 minutes talking about the nadir (now coming around again, ironically) of England under the heartless Tories and austerity programs of Margaret Thatcher.

Strikes and decay against her and her parties’ cruelty, particularly affecting young people who saw “No Future” and “Anarchy in the UK” going from being songs to being ways of life, created a bleak reality of poverty and hopelessness. And then, there was A Moment: on a BBC performance of “Starman,” the now-androgynous Bowie turned to the camera and sang the line “I had to call someone so I picked on you-oo-oo” and pointed directly into the hearts and minds of his pre-teen and teen fans.

It hit like a divine mission sent from above, and inspired everyone who was watching who felt out-of-place and not like the masses to dedicate their lives to becoming Bowie acolytes in thought, word, and deed. Just five years later — now young adults and with no future in sight — the kids made their move, inspired by Bowie’s radical changes in his music in the intervening years to follow his lead, and break out of their desperate lives and redefine who they were … and could be.

A batch of young creatives around London, led by Steve Strange (best known for the resulting band visage) and Rusty Egan (Rich Kids, Visage, Ultravox, Skids, and many others of that era), created a club where the mantra was anything other than the “desperation fashion” of Punk. It was just a little club in Covent Garden, but it became a safe house, a church, and portal to another world, fueled by both Bowie and the emerging bands he influenced.

The documentary consists mostly of photographs and the occasional movie clip of the club and its patrons in their “denying reality” finery and makeup, and interviews with some of the more prominent members of the group (minus Strange, who died in 2015). Starting off with simple “Bowie Nights” in ‘79 at a pub called Billy’s, the movement quickly outgrew the space and moved to an existing wine and cocktail bar already called Blitz.

As the influence of the club’s new direction spread, musicians made up of club regulars created new bands, or existing bands redirected to capture the spirit, inventing a branch of synth-heavy New Wave music that has, like the club goers themselves, never really fallen out of fashion.  It was often framed as the antithesis of Punk, but that was a common misconception: it was more an unconscious political reaction to the bleak reality of the times by escaping into a created world where style and creativity could thrive.

Over and over again, we discover in the film that the Blitz Kids (as they came to be called) have since established careers in the arts (like the band Spandau Ballet, whose first gigs were in Blitz) or complementary and aesthetically-pleasing related fields, such as milliner Steven Jones or costume designer Michelle Clapton. Egan, the club’s founder and DJ, and Strange, the club’s notorious doorman and taste-setter, themselves went on to fame in the band Visage, assisted by Ultravox’s Midge Ure and others to create a kind of declarative musical statement of the mindset of the Blitz Kids.

Ure, along with musicians Andy Polaris, Egan, Gary Kemp, Boy George, Marilyn, and other notable “faces of the 80s” are interviewed, and had careers that lasted long after Blitz closed. Though the club itself was short-lived (though followed by a couple of further attempts, including the Club for Heroes), the aesthetic’s “flambouyancy” and queer-eyed DIY attitude spread far and wide, including hitting the United States and elsewhere throughout the early 80s.

The doc also spends time with the notable but less-famous regulars, like Princess Julia (still a DJ to this day), Jones, Steve Dagger (Spandau Ballet’s manager for the last 40+ years), Robert Elms (writer and broadcaster), and others — all colourful characters with remarkably clear memories of their time at Blitz. Because of its style, the club was also, among other things, a haven for both impoverished straight kids who raided thrift shops for stylish gear while barely-existing in fetid squats and dead-end jobs as well as outcast LGBTQ+ youth — everyone of every race or creed was welcome, as long as you looked good and loved the music.

The club itself eventually fell apart because of drugs, especially heroin, but at its peak the club was a drug — and the best party you’ve ever been to, and I know that firsthand — thanks to a very brief London visit at just the right time, some borrowed clothes from a friend, and sheer dumb luck. I can confirm that pre-fame Boy George was working the coat check at the time, and that if you were 18-21 it was like you died and went to heaven — everyone was stunningly beautiful, the cocktails were deliberately cheap, and the music was fantastic.

From my few hours there, I returned to my home in Miami a very changed lad (in both good and bad ways). As for the documentary, its only serious fault is the paucity of photos and footage of the club the directors had access to.

More have since been discovered, some quite recently, but over its 90 minute runtime the sharp-eyed will spot re-used pictures and other repeated material. This shortfall is more than made up for by the excellent interviews with what I will jokingly call “the survivors,” who made the most of their early peak youth and, very often, carved out a life from the inspiration of Blitz.

Egan, Kemp, and George provide some of the most insightful interviews, both setting up the historical setting as well as the highlights of their time in this alternate reality they helped create. The absence of any contextual interviews from other sources with the late Steve Strange seems like an huge opportunity missed, given how large his shadow looms over everything.

The women interviewed, particularly Clapton, Darla-Jane Gilroy, and Princess Julia provide incredibly valuable “colour commentary,” if you will, because they were among the most dedicated regulars. They come off as being a driving force in helping create and maintain the philosophy of creative refinement that demanded not just looking good, but experimenting with different looks, that Strange made into a challenge for wanna-be entrants.

The highlight of the interviews is the segment I’ll call “OMG the night Bowie came to Blitz.” As the raison d’etre of the club and its mindset, this was akin to actual Jesus stopping by your local church.

Not only did the great man seem to enjoy himself (Strange tried and failed to keep his presence a secret, as if that was possible), but he recruited four of the regulars (including Gilroy, who’s memories had to help make up for the lack of Strange’s recollections) to be in his very memorable “Ashes to Ashes” music video. You know this was the peak of Gilroy’s, Strange’s and all the Blitz Kids’ lives.

Overall, the documentary is an important artifact of a magical two-year-plus moment that really had a huge (and to this day severely underestimated) influence on the world, including music, art, fashion, makeup, the queer community, and so much more. As one of my last acts before I left Miami, I volunteered to help some college students set up a regular gathering of wannabe Blitz Kids, goths, and other teen outcasts at clubs for the same sort of fashion-show/dance hall — only this time it was the bands from Blitz we grooved to.

Suffice to say that if you were part of the New Romantic scene or just loved the bands that came from it, you will appreciate this documentary’s insights, no matter where you lived or who you were (or pretended to be) in 1980. If Steve Strange could have been more involved in this, it would have been flawless — but thankfully Rusty Egan, Gary Kemp, Boy George, and the Blitz Irregulars stood in his stead and paid tribute to Egan and Strange’s beautiful moment.

About chasinvictoria

Writer/Editor, Comic Performer, Doctor Who fan, radio DJ, Punk/New Wave/Ska fiend, podcaster, audio editor, film buff, actor, producer, leftie (literally and figuratively), comedian, blogger, teacher, smartarse, and motormouth. Not necessarily in that order.

View all posts by chasinvictoria →