Film

About as edgy as a Jonas Brothers concert, this harmless homage to ’80s hair bands and 21st-century emo teenyboppers is wholesome in its debauchery and good-natured in its antiauthoritarianism. It’s a corporate-sanctioned slice of rebellion, a walk on the mild side that will make kids feel dangerous and their parents warm with nostalgia.

Pasty-skinned, pig-faced Rainn Wilson is nobody’s idea of a leading man, but he’s learned well from Jack Black’s merry anarchy and milks that misguided badassitude for all it’s worth. As the former drummer of Vesuvius, unjustly ousted before the group’s megafame, Wilson’s Robert “Fish” Fishman harbors two decades’ worth of self-destructive resentment that forces him to move in with his sister’s family. Turns out pudgy nephew Matt (Gad) has a band of his own, and when its drummer invariably quits before their prom-night show, Fish becomes their only chance at making the big gig.

He also becomes their heart and soul, inspiring them with his chaotic fervor, encouraging their talent and giving them the confidence to break into the big time. Complications predictably ensue, giving the picture its paint-by-numbers life lessons. But the overarching message is the transformative power of unbridled enthusiasm. And that rocks—if gently.