THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

Fowley, a hustling Svengali if there ever was one, quickly has Jett and Curie—joined by toughie Lita Ford, Sandy West and the one whose name I can never remember—practicing in an abandoned trailer ( calling to mind Divine's trashy hideout in Pink Flamingos ) . "You bitches are going to be bigger than the fucking Beatles," he tells the eager girls but quickly adds, "This isn't about women's lib—this is women's libido." Grabbing the mic from Curie, he acts out his sexualized version of what he wants ( with every other word out of his mouth being "cock" ) .

As Fowley gets into another of his sexualized rants at the girls, in a matter of minutes he and Joan proceed to write "Cherry Bomb" ( the group's sole hit, which also beautifully encapsulated their appeal and music ) . This phony but entertaining sequence, like pretty much all the movie, mythologizes the all-too-familiar rags-to-riches highlights of the short-lived career of the Runaways, which ended with the expected tour of Japan and a slide down into drugs, alcohol, narcissistic excess, etc. Along the way Sigismondi captures the hallmarks of the tatty mid-'70s bisexual glitter-rock scene with its platform shoes, skintight pants, tube tops and pansexual hair/make-up.

Shannon and the two teenage leads ( who sing their own numbers and indulge in a sensual love scene ) ably jump into the characters headfirst, and though the excess and exuberance are countered by a fair amount of melodramatic heartbreak, jealousy and enough tearful moments to smear the mascara of all and sundry, the movie works best when its focusing on attitude, outfits and the sleazy sex, drugs and rock-n-roll milieu circa 1975. The Runaways, a sort of Velvet Goldmine for girls, like the music of the group, is best enjoyed in the moment as a guilty, irresistible pleasure without any pretense of depth to deaden its erotic charge.

Briefly noted: Noomi Rapace gives a riveting performance as Lisbeth Salander, the leading character in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, a subtitled Swedish thriller opening this Friday at the Landmark Century Centre Cinema. Lisbeth—a tough, bisexual, pierced, tattooed goth computer hacker—teams up, against her will, with a disgraced investigative journalist ( Mikael Nyqvist ) to solve a 45-year-old mystery that slowly draws the two disparate characters together. Based on a bestselling novel, director Niels Arden Oplev's psychosexual thriller has twists and turns galore and the extra bonus of Rapace ( a Swedish double for Joan Jett ) and Nyqvist—who have terrific chemistry—as his leads.

The monthlong 13th Annual European Union Film Festival at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State, continues with the inclusion of a familiar but winning gay coming-of-age tale titled House of Boys.

The film, set in Luxembourg and Amsterdam, begins in the winter of 1984 and follows the adventures of exuberant blonde rabble-rouser Frank ( Layke Anderson ) , who we first encounter in the stall of the men's room in high school having sex with another boy. Free-spirited Frank sloughs off the taunts of the jocks and, before long, he and his best gal pal head for the bright lights of Amsterdam, their nearest Sin City.

Frank is soon on his own but quickly finds refuge in an all-male strip/show club called House of Boys. Udo Kier plays Madame, the drag-queen owner of the club where Frank—a blonde Guy Pearce lookalike with his tawny, muscular physicality and needle nose—quickly rises via a sexy Star Is Born/Flashdance moment to head stripper. There are elements of Cabaret, Priscilla Queen of the Desert and the aforementioned Flashdance in the witty drag numbers ( which include Kier singing while dressed as Dietrich ) .

The dancers include the usual group of gay stereotypes surrounding our newbie: hardened hustler Jake from the United States who claims to be straight; the bitchy drag queen saving for a sex-change operation; the kid who is subjected to nightly beatings from his father; and the fag-hag manager/bartender who always has an empathetic ear for the boys. Then with the appearance of a spot on Jake's face, AIDS makes its insidious entrance. Out actor Stephen Fry plays a doctor who treats Jake, who has fallen in love with Frank just as he's struck down by the disease. The last half tracks Jake's downward course and a deepening of the characters ( and the movie as well ) .

The early section reminded me that the '80s were full of joyful gay liberation firsts, and it's shot in hot, vivid colors a la Suspiria—with the club in hot reds and blues—to match the exuberant tone. Then, when sickness and death arrive, unflattering shades of green permeate. This unexpected attention to the visuals—rare in U.S. queer cinema—gives the movie an extra heft. Though the arc of the story and the expected hunks are awfully familiar, good acting, some unexpected set pieces and atypical '80s-club soundtrack chestnuts ( Soft Cell, DAF, The The and lots of Roy Orbison ) —all handled with authority by writer-director Jean-Claude Schlim—help elevate House of Boys above the usual boy-meets-boy, boy-loses-boy-to-AIDS story we've seen many, many times before. House of Boys screens March 20 and 23; see www.siskelfilmcenter.org .

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