The same things that make Jack Black an irresistible comedian are what make the pseudo rock band Tenacious D such an irresistible draw.

As an actor in such comedies as “Nacho Libre,” “School of Rock” and, his breakthrough, “High Fidelity,” Black has sported the same manic intensity of John Belushi, yelling, jumping and convulsing – throwing his entire being into his material. And while his outbursts may seem immature, and at times even childish, Belushi proved long ago that when someone’s working this hard for a laugh, it’s hard not to be charmed.

As the lead singer for Tenacious D – a guitar duo which, through its stage theatrics, improvised comedy and flair for the absurd has developed a rabid cult following – Black is just as winning. He isn’t a rocker, but a dreamer – the hero of every music lover who’s spent more time dreaming about the rush of being a rock star than putting pen to paper in hopes of writing the next great rock anthem.

He’s the guy who thinks if he throws himself into his act, it’ll work; that if he acts the part of a rock star, or focuses all his mental energy, that the success, the fame, the girls, the tune – it’ll all come to him no problem. That’s why he talks about making the masterpiece, tasty guitar licks, and rockin’ rifts. He’s not just a fan boy of the rock stars, but a genuine rock star wannabe – who has all the work ethic, but none of the talent, to get there.

The movie arrives long after the birth and rise of Tenacious D, and as one might expect, it’s more a gift for the fans than for the newcomers. The real question come opening day is whether anyone who doesn’t know the story of Black and band-mate Kyle Gass, of the over-the-top silliness of this fictional band, will appreciate the film’s sense of humor.

Odds are against it.

But as is, those who know a little something about who these guys are, and what kind of shtick they’re slinging, will have a ball.

You might call this the prequel to the D, or the story behind the band. Enter JB (Black), a child from an oppressively religious household, who runs away one day to find his music and his fame. Reaching the beaches of Hollywood, he finds KG (Gass) on a beach, playing his guitar for tips. JB’s jaw drops in awe, as he fools himself into believing that he’s found the best guitar player in the world, and stoner Gass lets the new kid “learn” from him, until both realize they’re broke and set out on a quest to steal a magic guitar pick from the rock and roll hall of fame and pay the rent.

Desperation, though, isn’t the band’s weakness so much as a necessity. Everyone’s a little desperate in the movie – KG for rock immortality, JB for fame – and even the audience, outside the film’s fictional fantasy land, is desperate to root for two bums looking to make good.

Towards that end, everything in the film seems overdone and exaggerated. The drug trips drift from absurd to delirious; the operatic rock ballads that break out between the duo and the Devil go on long after most films would have faded down. Even the tarot cards that divide the film into its many segments are not throwaway segues, but detailed portraits.

The film’s as big and flawed as the band itself. But just like any concertgoer wants their favorite band to pull out all the stops, so too will every D fanatic want another hour of this rambling, pumped-up and psyched-out acid trip of a film. It’s so reckless, it’s addicting.

by: Steven Snyder steven@zertinet.com, Published 2006-11-19