Sometimes, even the brightest stars in Hollywood can align to create a cinematic black hole. Rock The Kasbah, starring the usually reliable Bill Murray and directed by the acclaimed Barry Levinson, sadly exemplifies this phenomenon. Instead of a comedic gem, we’re left with a film that feels like it’s desperately trying to sell you a used car, complete with all the dodgy patter and none of the charm. If you’re looking for a movie to rock the kasbah in a good way, steer clear; this one is an absolute dud.
Richie Lanz, portrayed by Bill Murray, is far from his usual charismatic self. He’s a down-on-his-luck rock promoter, residing in a stereotypical California fixer-upper with a pool – a detail that feels more like a screenwriter’s wish fulfillment than a character detail. Lured by the promise of easy money from a drunken USO contact, Lanz books his receptionist and sole client, Zooey Deschanel’s character, to perform for troops in Kabul. Deschanel initially appears to be the responsible one, but upon arrival in the dusty, war-torn Afghan capital, she promptly unravels, robs Lanz, and hightails it to the perceived safety of Dubai. This leaves Lanz stranded, indebted to a menacing mercenary played by Bruce Willis, and surrounded by ex-Herbalife salesmen, embodied by Scott Caan and Danny McBride, now profiting handsomely by arming various factions. For a fleeting moment, Rock the Kasbah hints at becoming a sharp, Altman-esque satire on American involvement in Afghanistan. Sadly, this potential is squandered almost immediately.
Alt text: Bill Murray looking exasperated in a scene from the movie Rock the Kasbah, highlighting the film’s comedic but ultimately flawed attempt to rock the kasbah.
The film quickly descends into a predictable series of clichés. Lanz encounters a hooker with a heart of gold, played by Kate Hudson, a trope so tired it practically groans under its own weight. He then enlists a local Pashtun boy, portrayed by Arian Moayed, to be his driver, translator, and yes-man, who predictably evolves into Lanz’s conscience. What follows is a meandering adventure involving arms deals, a village caught in the crossfire of warring factions and the lucrative opium trade, and the discovery of a young woman with a remarkable voice. This young woman, Salima, played by Leem Lubany, is found singing Cat Stevens songs in a cave, veiled in a red burqa, as an act of devotion.
The plot takes another bizarre turn when it’s revealed that if Salima were to sing publicly, her seemingly benevolent father would murder her and anyone involved. Despite this imminent threat, the latter half of Rock the Kasbah inexplicably focuses on getting Salima onto “Afghan Star,” the Afghan equivalent of American Idol. The film culminates in Salima singing “Peace Train,” with all of Afghanistan seemingly united in harmonious joy, while Murray’s Lanz and Hudson’s character look on approvingly from the sidelines. This saccharine ending completely undermines any attempt at satire or meaningful commentary.
It’s particularly frustrating when talented individuals produce a bad movie, and Rock the Kasbah is a prime example. Barry Levinson, the director, has a filmography boasting gems like Diner, Bugsy, and Wag the Dog. His Avalon is considered a masterpiece exploring the immigrant experience. Rock the Kasbah feels so beneath his capabilities that it’s surprising he didn’t try to distance himself from it entirely. Murray, while seemingly just following direction, delivers a performance that is more grating than his usual endearing antic style. One can imagine a pitch meeting where the idea of “Bill Murray singing ‘Smoke on the Water’ to baffled villagers” might have sounded amusing, but the execution in Rock the Kasbah is simply dreadful.
Murray’s portrayal in Rock the Kasbah isn’t charmingly quirky; it’s just plain annoying, a rare misstep for the actor. McBride, despite limited screen time, manages to inject some much-needed energy into his scenes. One can’t help but feel sympathy for the actors playing the generic villagers and gun-toting villains. Leem Lubany, who was brilliant in Omar, is reduced to merely looking pretty and reciting Rumi quotes. Whether it’s actually her singing voice is debatable, but the vocal performance is unremarkable, hardly the culture-shifting voice the movie tries to portray. The film concludes with a title card dedicating this cinematic mess to a woman who did sing on television, attempting to guilt-trip the audience for daring to find the third act laughable.
Perhaps the real question is directed at Levinson: “Can you believe this guy directed Rock the Kasbah?” This movie is a significant misfire, proving that even with a talented cast and director, a film can completely fail to rock the kasbah or resonate with audiences in any meaningful way.
