Rock Solid : The New Yorker Review of Anvil! The Story of Anvil

I am really eager to see this film:

What actually happens I have no intention of revealing. Suffice it to say that the emotion that swept the cinema, at the climax, seemed unanimous, binding, and true: pretty much all that we ask of a movie, when you think about it. People who wait for the DVD, on the ground that this is a documentary about losers, made by a Brit, will miss out on that wonderful sense of conspiracy you get only in a cinema, with a bunch of complete strangers joined in a secret pact. Presumably, that is how Anvil aficionados feel, too, when they listen to songs like “March of the Crabs,” “Dr. Kevorkian,” and “Bushpig.” I had expected “Anvil! The Story of Anvil” to be no more than a real-life rehash of “This Is Spinal Tap,” and the very title of the new film has the same nudge of comic overkill that we treasure in the earlier one, whose famous scene of a guitar amp being turned up to eleven is echoed here. Some of Anvil’s lines could have been lifted straight from the mouths of Spinal Tap, and, as for the announcement, in the end credits, that the hapless Tiziana is “hoping to branch out into opera,” you couldn’t make it up. Yet, despite all that, Gervasi adds something that goes beyond Rob Reiner’s brief, and that no amount of mockery can tame. This film is not about rock music at all, still less about school lunches in Ontario, or unusual uses for vibrators; it is about time, and how it threatens to fade us out like a song on the radio, and why, risking ridicule, and leaning on love, we should crank up the volume and keep going. Whatever Lips maintains, not all has been said and done

via Rock Solid : The New Yorker.

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