Bringing the metal back to life
TORONTO (CUP) — “How many bands stay together for 30 years?” asks former Guns 'n' Roses shredder Slash.
He and a panel of rock mavericks, including Metallica's Lars Ulrich and Motorhead's Lemmy, pose this question early in Sasha Gervasi's metal doc-with-a-heart, Anvil: The Story of Anvil.
“You've got U2, The Stones, and Anvil.” But wait. Who is Anvil?
Anvil, we learn, were one of the hardest rocking metal acts of the early 80s. Touring the world with rock-juggernauts like Bon Jovi and The Scorpions, Anvil was just as likely to succeed as the rest.
Fusing electric guitars with buzzing vibrators, they were considered revolutionary in a time when shock rock was king. Belting out tunes aptly titled the likes of “Thumb Hang,” and “Show us Your Tits,” Anvil made no gripes about their intentions to rock, and were poised to take the world by storm.
Fast-forward 25 years. Fifty-something metal-heads Steve ‘Lips' Kudlow and Robb Reiner of Anvil still long for rock stardom. Instead of touring the world, Reiner and Lips haul ass, performing mundane occupations knowing full well of the dreams left unfulfilled. Braving the snowy roads of Ontario delivering food to cafeterias, Lips pathetically cries, “When I work at Choice Children's catering, they don't even know that my band exists!”
It wasn't drugs or sex that defeated the rock dinosaur, the movie shows; success just happened to pass them by.
While the two struggle to make ends meet, they are excited to learn that an old fan, Tiziana Arrigoni of Sweden has booked a year-long tour across Europe. Before long, missed trains, tardy venues and overall mismanagement hinder a once-promising tour.
Gig after gig, less people show up. Anvil plays their hearts out to a crowd fewer than 10 people.
“How much more love could one person put into something?” asks Lips.
One would be hard-pressed to argue.
Despite pitfalls, Lips' die-hard integrity prevails. Returning to Canada from the failed tour he exclaims proudly that even though everything went drastically wrong, “at least there was a tour for it to go drastically wrong on!”
Regrouping, Reiner and Lips decide to go all-in, pouring their savings into producing the Anvil album to end all Anvil albums, This is 13 — their thirteenth effort, and their last chance to do it right.
Told with sharp comedic timing, Gervasi's storytelling technique harkens back to classic mockumentaries like This is Spinal Tap. At times the characters are so outrageous, the actions so unbelievable that one would be lead to believe the story is fiction.
Watching Lips and Reiner trudge down Toronto's College Street reminiscing over hard-rock memories quickly reminds viewers that these guys are real people. They're the guys who busted their asses playing hard rock in their basements 'til four in the morning, raising the one-finger salute at anyone standing in the way of their unrelenting ambition. These are the guys you called the cops on.
Having seen Anvil at a film festival, the crowd was split in three: everyday folks, film critics, and some guys with pink mohawks, multiple piercings and jean jackets. Everyone came in with preconceptions about the music. Some found it irritating; others worshipped its mighty tune. Some grew up with metal, others didn't.
When the film ends, it isn't the music so much as the passion exhibited by Robb and Lips that infects the audience. The passion is contagious. People who would never be into metal become metal heads when they see it, finding themselves tapping away to the beat of Anvil's classic tune “Metal on Metal” as the credits roll right to the end.
He and a panel of rock mavericks, including Metallica's Lars Ulrich and Motorhead's Lemmy, pose this question early in Sasha Gervasi's metal doc-with-a-heart, Anvil: The Story of Anvil.
“You've got U2, The Stones, and Anvil.” But wait. Who is Anvil?
Anvil, we learn, were one of the hardest rocking metal acts of the early 80s. Touring the world with rock-juggernauts like Bon Jovi and The Scorpions, Anvil was just as likely to succeed as the rest.
Fusing electric guitars with buzzing vibrators, they were considered revolutionary in a time when shock rock was king. Belting out tunes aptly titled the likes of “Thumb Hang,” and “Show us Your Tits,” Anvil made no gripes about their intentions to rock, and were poised to take the world by storm.
Fast-forward 25 years. Fifty-something metal-heads Steve ‘Lips' Kudlow and Robb Reiner of Anvil still long for rock stardom. Instead of touring the world, Reiner and Lips haul ass, performing mundane occupations knowing full well of the dreams left unfulfilled. Braving the snowy roads of Ontario delivering food to cafeterias, Lips pathetically cries, “When I work at Choice Children's catering, they don't even know that my band exists!”
It wasn't drugs or sex that defeated the rock dinosaur, the movie shows; success just happened to pass them by.
While the two struggle to make ends meet, they are excited to learn that an old fan, Tiziana Arrigoni of Sweden has booked a year-long tour across Europe. Before long, missed trains, tardy venues and overall mismanagement hinder a once-promising tour.
Gig after gig, less people show up. Anvil plays their hearts out to a crowd fewer than 10 people.
“How much more love could one person put into something?” asks Lips.
One would be hard-pressed to argue.
Despite pitfalls, Lips' die-hard integrity prevails. Returning to Canada from the failed tour he exclaims proudly that even though everything went drastically wrong, “at least there was a tour for it to go drastically wrong on!”
Regrouping, Reiner and Lips decide to go all-in, pouring their savings into producing the Anvil album to end all Anvil albums, This is 13 — their thirteenth effort, and their last chance to do it right.
Told with sharp comedic timing, Gervasi's storytelling technique harkens back to classic mockumentaries like This is Spinal Tap. At times the characters are so outrageous, the actions so unbelievable that one would be lead to believe the story is fiction.
Watching Lips and Reiner trudge down Toronto's College Street reminiscing over hard-rock memories quickly reminds viewers that these guys are real people. They're the guys who busted their asses playing hard rock in their basements 'til four in the morning, raising the one-finger salute at anyone standing in the way of their unrelenting ambition. These are the guys you called the cops on.
Having seen Anvil at a film festival, the crowd was split in three: everyday folks, film critics, and some guys with pink mohawks, multiple piercings and jean jackets. Everyone came in with preconceptions about the music. Some found it irritating; others worshipped its mighty tune. Some grew up with metal, others didn't.
When the film ends, it isn't the music so much as the passion exhibited by Robb and Lips that infects the audience. The passion is contagious. People who would never be into metal become metal heads when they see it, finding themselves tapping away to the beat of Anvil's classic tune “Metal on Metal” as the credits roll right to the end.
