Remember the Chelsea Hotel

My current dorm is on 16^th Street and Union Square West, so it comes across as being strange that I haven’t even passed the Chelsea Hotel before, as it’s located on 23^rd Street. While it certainly isn’t as gritty as it was in its heyday, the place has certainly retained its mystery and reputation, even after its golden age.

Originally, The Chelsea Hotel seemed like it would be an experience to explore. However, after seeing his film and hearing director Abel Ferrara express vehemently that he wanted to “get the hell out of there” as soon as he arrived, I became slightly apprehensive. Most of the interviewees are now gone, having either left the hotel willingly or been evicted, but the eerie aura is still there in its hallways and rooms.

Chelsea on the Rocks is wildly uneven and seems to be unsure if it’s a narrative film or a documentary. The bulk of the film consists of many humorous and disturbing interviews with the hotel’s tenants, but there are also several reenactment scenes involving famous people who stayed at the hotel. Ferrara rockets back and forth between the two with reckless abandon, and as a result, one gets somewhat confused at points as to what is reenacted and what is not.

This mix of reality and fiction is a concept that seems interesting yet, when executed, falls flat. The low-budget nature of Chelsea on the Rocks doesn’t lend to effective narrative scenes, and as a result, many of these parts of the film, especially the scenes with Sid and Nancy, come across as being half-assed and occasionally look like they were taken off of someone’s home video camera.

The interviews fare much better, as they actually come across as interesting. The sex, drugs, and violence-laced tales of many of the film’s subjects are fascinating in their own right, and Ferrara injects a sort of maniac energy into his interviews which make them all the more fun. Hopping back and forth from behind the camera, his presence is occasionally too much, but most of the time just adds to the ridiculous nature of what he’s filming. Some of the interviews are highly disturbing and some don’t really seem to serve much of a purpose, but this isn’t particularly noticed, as the film adapts a similarly rambling tone for most of its run-time.

Many of the hotel’s eclectic residents were at a special screening of the film that I attended last weekend, and throughout the film, there was lots of cheering whenever someone recognized one of the people being interviewed or otherwise, and the end credits were coupled with thunderous applause. The sense of community was incredibly touching. Ferrara may not have succeeded in making a film that could be defined as being cohesive, but he certainly succeeded in capturing the spirit and the camaraderie of the Chelsea Hotel. I think that’s a bit more important.