THIS IS SPINAL TAP – A Blissfully Engrossing Ascension to the Pinnacle of Documentary Filmmaking

The documentary as an art form is an oft-overlooked and seldom commercially viable medium. This is rather surprising, actually, with the viewing public’s newfound fascination with “reality TV” and the constant blurring of the lines between fantasy and reality with such hits as “Survivor” and “The Osbournes.” One would expect the documentary to rise from the ashes of the media wasteland and tower over pop culture, its imposing figure taking on a Phoenix-like stature - yet the medium languishes.

One of the finest examples of what the documentary (or, in this case, “rockumentary”) could and SHOULD be is Marty DiBergi’s 1984 film “This Is Spinal Tap”, a documentary chronicling 1982’s “Smell the Glove” tour of the venerable British pop bebop cum psychedelic head cum heavy metal band, Spinal Tap. DiBergi, a virtually unknown filmmaker at the time whose primary claim to fame was the production of a series of Puppy Chow commercials, sought to “capture the sights, the sounds, the smells of a hard working rock band on the road.” He did just that. He did that and much, much more.

Whether by fate or happenstance, DiBergi’s selection of both the band and the tour proved providential, his subject was fascinating and his timing impeccable. The “Smell the Glove” tour proved to be cataclysmal for this band, and DiBergi provided us, the viewers, with a front row seat for Spinal Tap’s inevitable implosion. This documentary was an exemplary example of “no holds barred” filmmaking, truly capturing the essence of the seamy underworld of early 80s heavy metal music while showcasing all the trappings of this deviant lifestyle.

Spinal Tap was a rock ‘n roll dinosaur, a band whose staying power rivaled that of some heavy metal John Holmes/Long Dong Silver hybrid during the course of its 15 album, 17 year career (at the time of filming.) Fronted by vocalist David St. Hubbins (interesting fact learned from the movie: Saint Hubbins was the patron saint of quality footwear) and lead guitarist Nigel Tufnel, Spinal Tap was a TRUE survivor – a band that barely eked by, always on the brink of disaster, riding the wave of minimal talent and questionable taste and aided by the late 60s international #1 hit (chart listing approximate) “Listen to the Flower People”, to fashion itself a long-standing, if not mediocre, career. This band, despite its lengthy existence, toiled in relative obscurity and had scant little achievement, either musically or commercially, to show for its many years of labor. As an indication of this, despite the fact that I am somewhat of a hard rock aficionado, I had actually never even heard of Spinal Tap prior to this documentary’s release. If ignorance is bliss, I was, without doubt, one super-blissful mofo.

Abnormal psychology is always a fascinating theme and, without doubt, Spinal Tap’s collective psyche takes more than a hop, skip, and a jump from any known psychological baseline. These guys are extremely poor role models and, in light of the considerable influence they wielded over young people (the majority of their audience was comprised of teenage boys), I would warn parents away from allowing their children to view this film. The band members display a rather egocentric and “out of touch” outlook, and at numerous points throughout the film espouse a degrading, misogynistic view that if embraced by the general public would relegate women to a subservient role as sexual playthings and second class citizens. This viewpoint is best illustrated by the socially irresponsible lyrics of “Big Bottom” (a live performance of this appalling song was included in the film):

The bigger the cushion
The sweeter the pushin’
Yeah, that’s what I said.
The looser the waistband
The deeper the quicksand
Or so I have read.
My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo
I love to sink her with my pink torpedo.

While I think it is admirable that Tap, much like myself, is willing to appreciate a Rubenesque type of beauty and not feed into the myth of a Size O twig-with-legs as the “ideal woman”, it is disturbing that they lend their voices to the objectification of women as “big game” to be exploited and sexually used, perhaps even sodomized. Even more disturbing are the lyrics of “Tonight I’m Gonna Rock You Tonight”, a song that further displays their misogynist attitude and adds pedophiliac overtones to the sordid mix:

Little girl, it’s a great big world
But there’s only one of me.
You can’t touch, ‘cause I cost too much
But tonight I’m gonna rock you.
Tonight I’m gonna rock you.
Tonight!

You’re sweet but you’re just four feet
And you still got your baby teeth.
You’re too young and I’m too well hung
But tonight I’m gonna rock you.
Tonight I’m gonna rock you.
Tonight!

Obviously, Spinal Tap crossed the line with that irresponsible message, and even if it was a juvenile attempt at humor, this sort of encouragement towards the sexual exploitation of children is no laughing matter. It is my understanding that child professionals are mandated by law to report such nonsense to the authorities. I can only hope that some well intentioned listener forwarded those lyrics to Child Protective Services. Such offensiveness should not be displayed in public eye like some sort-of guiding candy.

While I cannot advocate support of either this band or its skewed, reprehensible ideals, I can endorse this film (for an adult audience) as an expose of said ideals and must admit some strange, tingly sensation akin to morbid fascination at watching the documentary unfold. Speaking of morbid, I must provide another word of warning: Spinal Tap’s drummer, Mick Shrimpton, passed away during the filming of this documentary and footage of his tragic demise was included in the film – so it’s not for the faint of heart. Mr. Shrimpton was the victim of spontaneous combustion during a live Tap performance. While it is my understanding that dozens of individuals spontaneously combust each year, it would seem that Spinal Tap drummers comprise an inordinately large proportion of that number. While I applaud Mr. DiBergi’s integrity in presenting a comprehensive, honest view of this band’s tour, I cannot help but feel a bit sickened by the callousness of including this (thankfully brief) footage in the final product, and believe its exclusion would not have detracted from the gritty realism of the documentary.

As Spinal Tap guitarist Nigel Tufnel observed, “There is a fine line between stupid and clever.” Although Tufnel & Co. almost uniformly adhered to the former, Marty DiBergi’s adept filmmaking skills and honest chronicling of Tap’s progressive decline made this much more than an empty fan flick, and proved him very clever indeed. I have heard very little of Spinal Tap in the nearly 20 years since this documentary’s release. They did have a mid 90s album entitled “Break Like the Wind” and I recently spotted them on a VH-1 “Where Are They Now?” special, but I imagine they are still out there… spreading their message of hedonism and irresponsible actions without consequences. DiBergi, however, has seemingly dropped from the face of the earth. The man had his one brief stroke of genius, his 15 minutes of fame, and created what should serve as the blueprint for the modern documentary. Then, much like Harper Lee, after creating his one great masterpiece he called it quits. Where have you gone, Marty DiBergi? The glove will never smell the same without you.