Metallica - Some Kind of Monster
Let me first establish that I LOVED Metallica back in the day. RIDE THE LIGHTNING and MASTER OF PUPPETS were IT when I was a little pre-pubescent headbanger, and even though they haven't put out a decent album in years, there has remained a soft spot in my steel-belted heart for James, Lars, and Kirk (and Cliff (R.I.P.)). So I came to this documentary ready for anything -- with as much sentimentality and sympathy as I could muster -- I really wanted to enjoy this experience.
IT SUCKED. SUUUUUUUUUCKED. 2 and a half hours of my life I can never have back. As a glimpse of the band members, as a glimpse at their "creative" process, and even on it's own merits as a film, it SUCKED. You could see the structure of the documentary these filmmakers were trying to make, but the band was not articulate enough to express themselves, and the filmmakers were not adept enough to capture the elements they needed in order to tell the story they wanted to tell. At rare moments, it comes off like a real-life Spinal Tap... but mostly you're either bored or cringing. And the only lesson to be learned from this film is that money is no substitution for inspiration.
So it's time for me to let them go -- since they refuse to embrace their post-mid-life-crisis lifestyles with quiet dignity, I need to honor my cherished memories (and dented eardrums) and let them drop from radar. Pretend that they don't actually exist anymore, and remember a happier, more hardcore time. Before the haircuts. Before radio airplay. Before the abomination of LOAD and (oh sweet jesus no) RELOAD. Before the Napster Wars. Even before Jason.
When Metallica were young, hungry and HEAVY -- not old, bloated and uninspired.
Now if only the flashbacks of witnessing this film would stop haunting me...
IT SUCKED. SUUUUUUUUUCKED. 2 and a half hours of my life I can never have back. As a glimpse of the band members, as a glimpse at their "creative" process, and even on it's own merits as a film, it SUCKED. You could see the structure of the documentary these filmmakers were trying to make, but the band was not articulate enough to express themselves, and the filmmakers were not adept enough to capture the elements they needed in order to tell the story they wanted to tell. At rare moments, it comes off like a real-life Spinal Tap... but mostly you're either bored or cringing. And the only lesson to be learned from this film is that money is no substitution for inspiration.
So it's time for me to let them go -- since they refuse to embrace their post-mid-life-crisis lifestyles with quiet dignity, I need to honor my cherished memories (and dented eardrums) and let them drop from radar. Pretend that they don't actually exist anymore, and remember a happier, more hardcore time. Before the haircuts. Before radio airplay. Before the abomination of LOAD and (oh sweet jesus no) RELOAD. Before the Napster Wars. Even before Jason.
When Metallica were young, hungry and HEAVY -- not old, bloated and uninspired.
Now if only the flashbacks of witnessing this film would stop haunting me...
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