I used to have a friend who said, “I can’t relate to anyone who isn’t pathetic.” I thought those were wise, if unusual, words. We are ridiculous creatures, us humans. All that strutting and fretting. Anyone who can’t accept that in themselves is probably not a person I want to spend a lot of time with.
It’s an interesting word, pathetic. In the modern world it is entirely pejorative. But the root of the word is “pathos”, which means a quality that inspires tenderness or sympathy. Works of art are often lauded as being “rich in pathos”, yet to be rich in pathos is, grammatically speaking, to be pathetic. That said, I don’t think any critic ever praised a movie by saying, “It’s the most pathetic movie of the year!” If they did, it probably didn’t make it on to the poster.
I was thinking about all this while watching Anvil! The Story of Anvil. For those who don’t know, Anvil! is a documentary about a Canadian heavy metal band that reached a brief peak of popularity in the early 80’s and has been struggling to re-climb that mountain ever since. And I’m here to tell you, it’s the most pathetic movie of the year.
I mean that as a great, great compliment.
Let’s be clear about one thing right off the bat – as a band, Anvil is horrible. Even by the standard of hair metal bands, their music is godawful. They mike Kiss look like The Rolling Stones.
But I cried twice watching this documentary. And they weren’t cheap tears, either. They were earned by a story told with humor and honesty and - I might as well say it – love.
As a subject, Anvil’s story is ripe for comedy. Indeed, parts of the movie are so similar to the classic mockumentary This is Spinal Tap (amps that go to 11, references to Stonehenge) that many have assumed it’s an elaborate prank. It isn’t. But when the band arrives two hours late for a gig in Prague because they couldn’t find the club, and the drummer’s only complaint is, “I threw away all my drugs because they said there’d be dogs. There are no dogs!”, it is every bit as funny as Spinal Tap. Which is saying something.
But I don’t want to spend a lot of time on what’s funny about Anvil! The reason is that making a bunch of guys in their 50s who are still avidly chasing heavy metal stardom look funny (read: pathetic) is no great accomplishment. Showing the story of their lives as filled with pathos, however, is.
At the heart of Anvil is it’s two founding members, a couple of Jewish kids from the Toronto suburbs named Robb and Steve (known as Lips). We come upon them in middle age, both married with children, doing menial jobs to survive. But they live for their music. They have been playing together since they were 14 and have been best friends just as long. They are closer than most married couples. I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that they are the most important person in each other’s lives.
During the recording of their latest album, Lips has one of his frequent blowups (he is very likable, but a little unstable). He threatens to throw Robb out of the band and stomps off into the English countryside. When he returns to apologize, Lips says, “I’m emotional! I can’t help it!” Robb responds by asking Lips why he always has to get emotional at him. Lips responds, with absolutely no irony, “Because I love you!”
Love between straight men is a popular topic for comedy these days, and rightfully so. But it is also very real, and largely unexplored. I can’t remember ever seeing that kind of love as movingly portrayed as it is in Anvil!
There’s one other element that I found especially moving. Twenty-five years after their last whiff of stardom, Anvil is still out there, pursuing their dream. And it’s not because their lives are empty. It’s because they love making music more than anything else. It got me thinking my own life, and about my own attitude towards my art. The fact that Lips is still mailing demos to his old producers, still borrowing money from his sister to make an album, probably strikes many people as pitiful. But viewed from another vantage point, it’s close to heroic.
In the last scene of the film, Anvil is at a rock festival in Japan waiting to go on. It is a huge venue, but they don’t know how many people are out there since they are playing at 11:35 AM. When they stepped onstage, my heart was in my throat. I hoped so desperately that the crowd would be large and appreciative for this awful, awful band.
At that point, they felt like my brethren. And maybe it’s not just me. Maybe their struggle is the struggle of all artists, whatever the quality. Perhaps Anvil! is not just the story of Anvil. It’s the story of all of us.
