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The
Thing That Should Not Let It Be:
Metallica:
Some Kind of Monster
Directed by Joe Berlinger
and Bruce Sinofsky
by Joe O’Brien
A lot of us think Let It Be
ended the Beatles’ legacy with a whimper after Abbey
Road’s bang (I can’t comment on Let It Be...Naked;
haven’t heard it, haven’t heard any endorsements
to make me want to hear it), but the record still has a handful
of gems- at least enough inspired material to justify the
squabbling and ego trips of Let It Be the documentary.
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| The thing about Some Kind of Monster,
the rockumentary of Metallica’s struggle to produce 2003’s
St. Anger, is that the actual music that the band struggles
so hard to make bears little resemblance to the thunderous epics
of barbaric hunger that made them heavy metal icons. Sure, the
music’s loud, aggressive, and James Hetfield still ends
each lyric with his trademark “yah!” But now the
force of the band’s ferocity lies somewhere between K-Rock
nu-metal and Hagar the Horrible. |
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“It sounds stock,”
complains Lars Ulrich about Kirk Hammett’s riffage, and
as much as we may side with Kirk’s literal forehead-slapping
frustration with Lars’ and James’ bitching for much
of the film, Lars does have a point. (Even Lars’ Danish
Gandalf of a father, Torben, who compares the Earth-crushing
force of Metallica’s early albums to Zeppelin and Sabbath,
is unabashedly unimpressed by the St. Anger demos.)
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The fact
that the most exciting musical moments in Monster
come from decade-old live footage of “Enter Sandman”
and “Seek and Destroy” makes the drama of St.
Anger’s recording feel occasionally comical in a much-ado-about-nothing,
Spinal Tappish kind of way: Lars tries to spice up one of
Kirk’s “stock” riffs with off-kilter drumwork,
but instead produces a gimpish rhythm that prompts James to
ridicule, “I’m used to drums that keep a beat”
shortly before he exits behind a door slam.
It’s also pretty funny when Lars
becomes so agitated by James’ paranoid control issues
that all he can do is vent a steamy “Fuuuuck!”
right into the frontman’s face. |
| Yet Metallica’s artistic
stagnation and unintentionally comic behavior are nevertheless
shaped into an engaging drama by co-directors Joe Berlinger
and Bruce Sinofsky. In their fascinating Paradise Lost
documentaries, which followed a group of metal-loving kids who
were most likely framed for ghastly child murders, Berlinger
and Sinofsky’s sympathy for their subjects was obviously
rooted in the kids’ presumed innocence. Now with Monster,
you get the feeling that the directors probably also bonded
with their subjects over how fucking awesome The Black Album
is. |
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The directors’ portrayal
of the band is noticeably reverent. But more importantly,
with all the unflattering moments thrown in, Monster is,
as “Lester Bangs” taught us in Almost Famous,
“honest and unmerciful.”
Like any great rock- (or mock rock)umentary,
the constant tension of ego vs. heart drives the picture and
draws the band members as multi-dimensional, though not always
likeable, beings, rather than just fit-prone prima donna rockers.
To be fair, as much as Lars and James’ feelings sometimes
come across as what I just described as bitching, they just
as often express themselves in much more thoughtful ways than
Nigel Tufnel and David St. Hubbins ever could. |
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And sure, Lars alienated most
of us with his anti-Napster campaign, but he kind of redeems
himself and proves he’s not always about the Benjamins
when he, James and Kirk mock an unnamed radio conglomerate’s
(most likely Clear Channel’s) request for the band to
record a ridiculous scripted promo to pimp a big-money contest.
(Metallica’s response: “This is Lars Ulrich from
Metallica, and I’m gonna shove this $50,000 up your ass!”
James: “One dollar at a time!”) |
| Then when it’s implied that the
radio conglomerate won’t promote future Metallica material
if the band won’t play ball, their collective anger results
in one of St. Anger’s few non-laughable lyrics,
“Wash your back/so you won’t stab mine.” (“My
lifestyle/determines my death style,” however, still makes
me snicker). For all their bitching about creative control and
interpersonal communication breakdowns, you can’t say
Metallica can’t squeeze the occasional glass of hard lemonade
from life’s lemons. |
| (Semi-Spoiler Alert: Not
that one could spoil this story; if it ended with unexpected
tragedy, MTV News would have told us already). From that moment
on, Monster veers towards its happy ending: James rehabs,
the band comes to terms with Jason Newsted’s departure,
finds kinship battling their common enemies of corporate radio
cheese and their former group therapist/”life coach,”
and just before the credits roll, they (with newly adopted bassist
Robert Trujillo) stand arm-in-arm before a stadium of apeshit
metalheads. |
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| As sympathetic human beings, we welcome
the Hollywood ending and we’re glad that the guys emerge
from their ordeal as close as ever. But if you’re a casual
Metallica fan like me and not a hardcore disciple (or maybe
even if you are), you might be a little disappointed that the
soundtrack they emerge with makes Smell the Glove sound
like Ride the Lightning. |
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