Heavy Mettle

[April 22nd, 2009]

It has been widely noted that Robb Reiner, veteran drummer for the thrash metal band Anvil, has a name exactly one letter away from the director of This is Spinal Tap. But Robb Reiner isn’t a parody—he’s a painter. His Toronto home is decorated by his artwork, which includes a surprisingly elegant oil-on-canvas of a fecal log floating in a commode, but consists predominantly of urban streetscapes. “I like buildings,” Reiner tells the camera following him for Anvil! The Story of Anvil, a documentary on his band’s endurance in the face of obscurity and age. “There’s a guy called Edward Hopper, I love the guy,” he explains, slightly sheepishly, as if suspecting that audiences who come to see a movie about Canadians who play guitars with dildos will not be familiar with melancholy American realism.

But the loneliness and isolation of Nighthawks are moods well understood by Anvil! The Story of Anvil. Late in the movie, lead singer and guitarist Steve Kudlow (who performs under the name of Lips), admits that he often shuts his eyes during shows, so he can imagine that he is shredding for a massive, frenzied crowd, instead of an empty room. It has been a long, strange trip for Anvil, but the trajectory has been smoothly downward. In 1984, the band Reiner and Kudlow formed at age 14 was playing alongside Bon Jovi and Whitesnake, and their first three records—Hard ’N’ Heavy, Metal on Metal and Forged in Fire—were seminal influences on the metal scene. Lips whipped out his dildo for adoring Japanese fans, and posed with his own penis dangling for some edgy publicity shots. Since then, there have been many more records: Plugged in Permanent, Absolutely No Alternative, Back to Basics. The list, as you might imagine, goes on. For reasons the members of Anvil are happy to elaborate on, none of these albums developed a following. By the time the film begins, Kudlow is delivering school lunches. He and Reiner seize the opportunity to appear at a gig called Monsters of Transylvania, which on the one hand is actually located in Transylvania but on the other hand is staged at a venue that holds 10,000 people. Unfortunately, only 174 Romanians show up. “Unfortunately” is a word Anvil has grown too familiar with.

As Anvil! The Story of Anvil trails Anvil through an increasingly dire European tour (their road manager speaks limited English, and has seemingly learned her trade by watching Murray on Flight of the Conchords; eventually she breaks down weeping), it becomes clear that director Sacha Gervasi is following the template for documentaries about has-been and never-were musical acts. What distinguishes Anvil! is Gervasi’s palpable affection for her subjects, and her subjects’ awareness of themselves. The two quinquagenarian bandmates may be the nicest people in rock ’n’ roll (perhaps this has something to do with being Canadian; the open-faced Lips wears a toque with his group’s name stitched on it, which feels like a quintessentially Canuck gesture), and they come across as far more conscious of the ridiculousness of strutting half-naked across a stage at 50 than do, say, the Rolling Stones. By the time they return to Japan for another long shot at a comeback, any sensation of pity has given way to fondness—even if one looks askance at Reiner’s painting of a giant monument in the shape of, yes, an anvil.

Is Anvil any good? This is not a question I feel qualified to answer, my knowledge of heavy metal being limited to wincing when the New York Yankees play “Enter Sandman” to announce the arrival of Mariano Rivera. I have polled the WW music department, and none of them had heard of the band, which seems like an indication. But by the movie’s climax this question, along with that of whether Anvil can be successful, has been eclipsed by something more pressing: Is Anvil happy? Few of us get to be very talented or acclaimed, after all, and maybe Lips isn’t so foolish to observe, “Things went drastically wrong, but at least there was a tour for it to go wrong on. ” This determined optimism—smile, smile against the dying of the light—is immensely affecting. Lips may have put down his dildo, but he keeps holding his guitar, and the schlong remains the same.