Harry Shearer, Christopher Guest and Michael McKean in the film “This is Spinal Tap” Photo: Alami
In 1984, American actors Christopher Guest , Michael McKean and Harry Shearer appeared on the popular late-night TV show in New York City to promote their upcoming film, This Is Spinal Tap. Despite being interviewed by a veteran TV presenter (Joe Franklin), the trio were able to convince both the host and the evening's other guests that the film was in fact a genuine documentary about a hapless British heavy rock band on their disastrous American tour. United States. While the cameras were rolling, no one doubted that they were in the company of musicians of English origin.
“I was deceived,” Franklin would later say. «I was tricked. They came to my show as a regular group, and only later did I find out the truth.”
This Is Spinal Tap celebrates its 40th anniversary on March 2nd. Although it only made a modest profit of $4.7 million (on a $2 million budget) after its limited release in just five theaters in the United States, the advent of various forms of home media has cemented this 82-minute feature as one of the the most, if not the most, beloved cult films of the 20th century. Watching it last night for perhaps the 20th time, I could only marvel at its ability to make me laugh and wince just as hard as before. His themes are timeless. It's like War and Peace with Marshall stacks.
Of course, it is not surprising that the three actors did not cope with their roles. Featuring lead guitarist Nigel Tufnel and vocalist and singer David St. Hubbins and bassist Derek Smalls, Guest, McKean and Shearer created and remembered their characters' personal histories as if they were criminals rehearsing a cover story. It is noteworthy that the film's unusually slender 59-page script contained only two examples of specific dialogue. The rest is sketches of scenes improvised by the players themselves. When director Rob Reiner as Marty DiBerga asks the trio about the past, they have no room for error.
The jokes are not only extremely sensational, but often surprisingly subtle. For example, in its early incarnations, Spinal Tap was called The New Originals and The Originals — in that order. Even the smallest details match the world depicted in the film. Arriving in the US to begin their latest tour, the band has no idea whether they landed at New York's JFK or LaGuardia airport. As someone who's spent more than half my life interviewing rock musicians, I can think of at least 25 bands who wouldn't have a clue either. Unless you book plane tickets yourself, you don't need to know about this.
There is plenty of evidence that real rock stars are even more ridiculous than Spinal Tap. Screamin' Jay Hawkins actually got stuck in a stage prop (in his case, a coffin), as did U2's The Edge (lemon); Black Sabbath actually built a Stonehenge set, only they had it too big rather than too small. As seen in «The Last Waltz», the band went through many name changes (The Crackers, The Honkies) before arriving at… The Band. Motley Crue and Yes admitted to getting lost on the way to the stage, and Ted Nugent sometimes got stuck in the bathroom when the lights came on. Both Brian May and Boston keyboardist Tom Scholz nearly died due to hydraulics on stage — Scholz was swinging on a rope REO Speedwagon did not share the bill with the puppet show, but did share a dressing room with the ventriloquist's dummy.
Spinal Tap also introduces the characters to a rock band. Fran Drescher is perfect as the boisterous American publicist (Bobby Fleckman) who will turn her back on any band released by her clients at Polymer Records. Equally important is Tony Hendra's performance as trainer Ian Faith. Trying to be one of the guys while protecting your charges from the worries of declining popularity and the constant threat of real life is a thankless task. As with many supposedly personable rock managers, psychopathy is only a «one-two check.»
Despite the abundance of quotable lines, I think it is Hendra who reveals the core truth of “It’s a Spinal Tap.” As the band scramble to find a scapegoat after being embarrassed on stage by a Stonehenge model that's only one-tenth the size required, their eyes turn to their manager. Cornered and humiliated, he resigns in protest. “Every time there's one bump or frill in this teenage fantasy land you guys have built around yourselves, you start screaming like a bunch of sassy barbers,” he declares before running out of the room.
I can't think of a better description of rock 'n' roll than «teen fantasy land.» Because when it comes to the grim task of surviving what may well be a permanent drop in popularity, it's faith, not talent, that will get you through the night. Blind faith is the key. As curators and other stakeholders collude in what is often a charade, it is only a short leap from here to full-blown delusion. Jan Faith tells his charges the naked truth only once. For the rest, he is also guilty. “Honestly, I think this is a turning point,” he says when the band receives an album with an all-black cover that doesn't show their name. “We're on our way. It's time to kick ass.»
It's not that you can't mute a good band, it's that you can't even mute a bad one. In the fictional world of This Is Spinal Tap, the viewer can rejoice in the plight of these dejected rockers because, in reality, they are just kids riding a roller coaster that they hope will never stop. Despite their selfish and narcissistic tendencies, they are actually quite innocent people. As the New York art newspaper Village Voice wrote: “Rarely have pretentious people been portrayed with such affection.”
In real life it's a bumpier ride. In 2008, the feature documentary film “Anvil!” was released. A Tale of Anvil is often described as a 21st century companion to This Is Spinal Tap. In a way, I understand this. I vividly remember attending a pre-screening of the film in Soho, where I had to ask a fellow music journalist whether what we were watching was a parody. Honestly, I just couldn't tell. As the end credits rolled, the people around me were thrilled to be part of such a moving testament to the indefatigability of the human spirit. But after 81 minutes spent in the on-screen company of an epically hopeless Canadian metal band, I felt nauseous and despondent.
Having interviewed two of Anvil's core members in London, I was delighted to discover that singer Steve «Lips» Kudlow and drummer Robb Reiner — yes, he actually had the same name as the director of This Is Spinal Tap — were exactly the ones. than I imagined them to be. be. Completely dependent on each other's narcissistic delusions, the couple somehow managed to combine monosyllabic resentment, grandiose superiority and a painful sense of pathetic persecution into one sickening whole. As for the obviously dark music to which they gave their name, I would honestly say that they have gone crazy.
Rob Reiner and Christopher Guest in This Is Spinal Tap Posted by Alami
Anvil — and I know this because they told me so — think they're better than Metallica. It's just a matter of bad luck that they didn't sell 125 million albums. Spinal Tap probably thinks they're better than Van Halen or some other rock giant dominating a parallel universe in which they struggle to attract 1,200 people a night. It's certainly not a bad crowd, otherwise there wouldn't be one if the band's previous US tour hadn't seen them play arenas that held more than 10 times the crowd. As Ian Faith famously explains, “their attractiveness is becoming increasingly selective.”
For any band that has had any success that has long since evaporated, the question arises: is it better to love and lose, or never to have loved at all? It's hard to stay the course, but it's even harder to break the habit. On the surface, those who cut their losses for a life on Sivvy Street or a role in the rock business are better off than musicians who continue to pursue a dream that died long ago. In any case, the simplest view of what is happening will leave them for life. In my experience, even those who have named it, turn down the opportunity to ride again. And if they get even half a chance, they will take it.
Sometimes they are in good old condition too. Seven years after signing a — quote — legally binding contract to stop touring, Motley Crue were back on the road despite guitarist Mick Mars suffering from chronic arthritis. Metallica's James Hetfield finished one tour with back pain so severe that he had to be suspended by his ankles from a contraption hidden behind the stage wings. Slayer frontman Tom Araya once showed me a photo on his phone of an X-ray of the vertebrae in his neck fused to metal plates. After being bitten by — yes, really — a poisonous spider, his bandmate Jeff Hanneman appeared on stage in California, bluish scars from the surgery that saved his life, and proudly displayed.
And these are just physical injuries. I remember applying for a marriage license at the Camden Council office and being told by the registrar that I had once looked at his group (positively, thank God). Five minutes later, he also told me that although his experiences in the music industry had led to a nervous breakdown, he nonetheless hoped to get his band Fearless Vampire Killers back together. Ten months later, at the main gig at the Dome in Tufnell Park, I watched this visibly dejected office worker stalk the stage like a rock god.
Oddly enough, Spinal Tap can't resist this either. They've played real gigs over the last 40 years, including one at the Royal Albert Hall in 1992, and it was truly terrible. Reuniting with Rob Reiner, filming began last month on the sequel to the film that started it all. With today's concert scene dominated by retirement-aged rockers (remarkably, almost all the bands so affectionately derided in 1984 are still on tour), the comic possibilities seem endless. Let's hope they don't go to waste.
But at least there is a flawless document — This Is Spinal Tap. The graceful ease with which he explores themes of codependency, stunted development, artlessness, illusions of adequacy and the inevitability of collective failure has led audiences to believe they are watching a comedy for years. For me, I think it's a tragedy that just contains a lot of world-class jokes. No wonder this is the only film in the Internet database whose rating reaches 11.
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