Alan Freed Movies

Martin Scorsese explores the life of organized crime with his gritty, kinetic adaptation of Nicolas Pileggi's best-selling Wiseguy, the true-life account of mobster and FBI informant Henry Hill. Set to a true-to-period rock soundtrack, the story details the rise and fall of Hill, a half-Irish, half-Sicilian New York kid who grows up idolizing the "wise guys" in his impoverished Brooklyn neighborhood. He begins hanging around the mobsters, running errands and doing odd jobs until he gains the notice of local chieftain Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), who takes him in as a surrogate son. As he reaches his teens, Hill (Ray Liotta) is inducted into the world of petty crime, where he distinguishes himself as a "stand-up guy" by choosing jail time over ratting on his accomplices. From that moment on, he is a part of the family. Along with his psychotic partner Tommy (Joe Pesci), he rises through the ranks to become Paulie's lieutenant; however, he quickly learns that, like his mentor Jimmy (Robert DeNiro), his ethnicity prevents him from ever becoming a "made guy," an actual member of the crime family. Soon he finds himself the target of both the feds and the mobsters, who feel that he has become a threat to their security with his reckless dealings. Goodfellas was rewarded with six Academy Award nominations including Best Picture; Pesci would walk away with Best Supporting Actor for his work. ~ Jeremy Beday, Rovi

Go, Johnny, Go! was second and last of a proposed trio of jukebox movies built around and co-produced by DJ Alan Freed. He plays himself in this rags-to-riches tale, told in flashback, of a young rock & roll singer named Johnny Melody (Jimmy Clanton), whose rise from life in an orphanage where no one wanted him to his "discovery" by Freed through an unsolicited demo recording sent to the disc jockey's office is told in 75 minutes, in a dramatic time frame that's impossible to determine. Along the way, Johnny meets a girl (Sandy Stewart) with whom he falls in love, and nearly gets himself arrested when it looks as though everything has turned against him. The plot is a threadbare reprise of the kind of juvenile delinquency-with-music stories that Elvis Presley had been doing, but it offers glimpses of several very worthwhile (and a couple of legendary) music acts of the era who were otherwise undocumented on film: Jimmy Clanton himself, who was one of the best white singers to come out of that New Orleans R&B/rock & roll sound; Sandy Stewart, who was (and is still, 40-plus years later) a serious vocal talent; Chuck Berry, in a pair of performing clips that are brilliant; Ritchie Valens, in his only film appearance, doing a hot rocking number called "Oh, My Head"; Harvey Fuqua of the Moonglows; the Cadillacs, in a pair of killer comic-relief numbers; Jo-Ann Campbell; and Jackie Wilson, showing how little Michael Jackson actually brought to performing that was new more than 20 years later. No, Go, Johnny, Go! isn't A Hard Day's Night, but it is a lot of fun to watch, and is easily the best of Freed's handful of feature films, before his downfall in the payola scandal. ~ Bruce Eder, Rovi

Rock, Rock, Rock stars 13-year-old Tuesday Weld, who looks 11 if she's a day. Even so, Weld's Dori is trying to get together enough money to buy a strapless gown (she's far more self-confident than she should be at this biological stage of the game). Daddy has cut off Dori's allowance, but gee, she's gotta go to the prom. Nevermind all that, you'll want to see Rock, Rock, Rock for its dynamite lineup of guest stars. In alphabetical order: LaVerne Baker, Chuck Berry, he Johnny Burnette Trio, Jimmy Cavallo House Rockers, Cirino and the Bowties, the Coney Island Kids, the Flamingos, Frankie Lyman and the Teenagers, the Moonglows, and Teddy Randazzo. As a bonus, Connie Francis provides Tuesday Weld's singing voice. And say, kids, it's Alan Freed serving up platters 'n' chatters and stax o' wax on prom night. This marked Valerie Harper's film debut; she was in her teens at the time. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

Coming off of a hit New York gig, successful rock & roll crooner Arnie Haines (Alan Dale) realizes he and his bandmates are weary from the grind of two years of steady gigs. They tell their manager (DJ Alan Freed, playing himself) they're taking a break and return to the small town where they started, Mellonville (state unspecified, but it looks like central Pennsylvania). Upon arriving, however, Haines finds himself denounced by the mayor (Pierre Watkin) as a bad influence on the teenagers and banned from any public performances. That would suit him fine -- he and the boys wanted the summer off -- but their local teenage fans can't abide the repressive atmosphere, and then nationally syndicated columnist Arlene MacLaine (Fay Baker), visiting Mellonville, attacks Haines and rock & roll in her column, threatening the whole music business. Arlene's comely daughter, Francine (Patricia Hardy), urges Arnie to fight back and convince her mother that rock & roll is harmless fun. Toward that end, with help from the sympathetic mayor (George Cisar) of the next town, Arnie and Freed organize an all-star show that includes Little Richard, the Treniers, and Bill Haley & His Comets. Everything goes according to plan until one petty, jealous girl (Jana Lund) nearly starts a riot when Arnie rejects her advances. Then it's up to Francine and her acting troupe friends to help Arnie and Alan Freed make one last pitch for rock & roll. Though Don't Knock the Rock has more plot and characters than most movies of this type, and it did reflect an actual serious controversy that was growing at the time (and not just in the South), it is really just lighthearted fun. Its real appeal lay in the singing and dancing, not only by some top rock & roll talent of the day (Bill Haley is great, Little Richard and his band are amazing, and the Treniers are dazzling), but also by the dancers portraying ordinary teenagers having fun. Photographer Ben Kline gets all of his camera angles spot on, so that the movie, though no classic, is a visual and musical delight a half century later. And just to show where the film's heart really lies, producer Sam Katzman and director Fred Sears (who were old enough to be "squares") replace "The End" at the final frame with a more nonchalant (and topical) "Dig You Later." ~ Bruce Eder, Rovi