Pistol Review: A Frenetic, at Times Exhausting, Dive Into Sex Pistols Lore

In Pistol, a six-part drama based on his memoir Lonely Boy: Tales from a Sex Pistol, Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones (Toby Wallace) makes a plea for originality. For the band, it’s never simply about the music, but about making an indelible impact. And in the spirit of a band that would become the face of a revolution, director Danny Boyle makes a valiant effort to shake up the listless biopic formula. The results are sometimes inconsistent, but the limited series invariably captures the fervent vibe of these oversexed, under-prepared rockers.

Centered around impoverished delinquents who dabble in hard drugs and casual sex and make very loud rock music, Pistol will inevitably earn comparisons to Trainspotting. From the series’s outset, which sees Jones sneaking his way onto the empty stage of London’s Hammersmith Odeon and stealing one of David Bowie’s microphones, Pistol is quick to showcase the Sex Pistols’ rambunctious energy and mischievous sense of glee.

Considering the Sex Pistols’s rough-and-tumble history, it makes sense to let the manic feeling of their heyday dictate the tone and style of the series. But striving to capture both the combustible charm of the band’s singular spark while also aiming for a grounded sense of authenticity, Pistol can ultimately feel exhausting. So, it’s a credit to the largely unknown ensemble that they’re not outshined by Boyle’s colorful and chaotic directorial style.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uh4-xTZiekA

In particular, Wallace’s tender performance lends Pistol its beating heart, allowing us to connect to the cantankerous Sex Pistols as they try to make a name for themselves. True to the record, the Jones presented by the series is a kleptomaniac and sex addict, but Wallace never shies away from showing the musician’s wounded vulnerability. He plays Jones like a scrappy mutt looking for somewhere to call home, wandering about his dingy British hometown with a chip on his shoulder and a feverish desire to find his place in the world.

For as much as the Sex Pistols’s fabled escapades have been detailed and dramatized throughout the years, the band’s humanity consistently pokes through the series’s hot-house stylings. As John Lydon, better known as Johnny Rotten, Anson Boon gives an almost feral but, similar to Jones, wounded portrayal of the notorious bad-boy frontman.

Despite some conventional narrative strategies—an unfortunate irony for a series about a band that fought hard against conventions—and a visual style that’s at times more pop than punk, Pistol effectively channels the intensity of a group of snot-nosed punks fighting against the system. Boyle’s full-throttle sensibilities wrestle against the moments of sentimentality and heavy-handed nods to the Sex Pistols’s most disreputable members. But Pistol is unapologetic and joyfully unabashed in its vulgarity, which makes a fitting tribute to a bunch of rabble-rousers who never shied away from making an impression.