After Glazer’s film cuts to black at the end, the music reemerges in a nightmarish march of yawping voices.

For every love ballad there’s a “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” a mournful yawp on the Irish Troubles that was actually written by U2 guitarist the Edge.

Every few minutes, it seemed, they were forming a phalanx across the stage to belt at me, channeling the angst of teenagers everywhere into a wordless yawp.

Curiously, the filmmakers gave these folks dialogue that consists mostly of aaarghs, yawps, screeches and snarls.

"What the...? Where you get that?" he yawped, slowly relaxing his forehead.