Dowse at first seems to have This Is Spinal Tap in mind as a model, and he scripts and shoots with an eye toward capturing the excesses of the superstar DJ set. Kaye acts as though he hasn't been sober for years, and whatever wordless cool he projects from behind the turntables vanishes the moment he opens his snaggletoothed mouth. He's harmless enough—he may not be capable of noticing that he couldn't possibly be the father of his wife's bi-racial son, but he treats him affectionately anyway. Wilde is more a caricature than a character, but he's as well thought-out as the stylish, pulsing crowd shots and arty close-ups Dowse breaks out at every occasion.
Kaye plays the part with disarming conviction. He makes it look like there's nothing going on behind his zonked-out eyes, and he seems generally concerned when wrestling with the giant, snot-nosed badger that symbolizes his cocaine addiction. If only any of it were funny, Dowse might be on to something. But the comedy seems pretty forced, and eventually it disappears entirely. As Kaye's health gets worse, the film sobers up, following him as he learns to live with his deafness, finds love again, and struggles to make music from a silent place.
But what's a mockumentary without the mock? It's not a documentary, that's for sure. If It's All Gone Pete Tong were a true story, it would likely be a lot more interesting. But the shift from feckless comedy to uninspired inspirational drama, though daring, doesn't really make it a better movie. Both halves just sit there without making much of an impression. The film never goes Pete Tong, but that may be because it never really goes anywhere at all.
