As more than one writer has noted, fans of Slade -- who were the boot-stompin' kings of blue-collar British glam rock during the early to mid-'70s -- probably weren't expecting a low-key look at the dirty inner workings of the music industry when the bandmembers starred in their first feature film, and three decades on, Flame still seems like a brave and surprising move for a band that founded its career on being loud, proud, and unable to spell. While, for the most part, Slade's members are just playing themselves, they're given just enough challenge in terms of dialogue and character interaction to make their performances genuinely commendable, especially Noddy Holder (who, as the frontman, does get the bulk of the screen time) and Don Powell (whose low-key, but engaging, performance belies the fact that he was still recovering from an auto wreck which wiped out much of his short-term memory). Tom Conti offers a smooth but mildly sinister turn as the band's new boss, and Alan Lake is lots of fun as the greasy would-be love man Jack Daniels. Director Richard Loncraine and screenwriter Andrew Birkin give the film more than enough grit to make it convincing, though in all honesty, the film might have worked a bit better if it had been longer; some more background on the characters and their circumstances would have helped, and for a movie about a successful rock band, Flame features precious little footage of Slade doing their stuff on-stage. But Flame is the sort of movie that gets to be a cult film for a good reason -- what by all rights should have been a low-budget bit of booze-it-up nonsense turns out to be a thoughtful and intelligent kitchen-sink mood piece that's better written and acted than anyone had a right to expect. In short, you don't have to be a glam junkie to enjoy it.