By Terry Sherwood
Steve Flavin’s Wrathbone, part horror, part music mockumentary says you might find yourself having to answer for the way you lived it. I In this case the ubiquitous hair-metal god who has spent years indulging in sex, drugs, rock and roll, and just about every other excess imaginable, the afterlife might not be particularly welcoming. If only there would be more accountability in the corporeal world.
I was involved in my cities local metal scene myself, so a good deal of what unfolds in Wrathbone if have seen and those that attend the shows and shenanigans have as well. . The hair in this case more Sunset strip looking , the attitude, the musicians, the backstage antics and, yes, even the snorting. Oddly this film leaves out the sex which was huge just ask Steve Jones after the Sex Pistols demise. I remember a friend of mine using my drum cases as a convenient surface for doing exactly that with certain powder. So when Nigel Wrathbone is getting himself into trouble in the green room, There are memories attached to this vacuuming.
Set firmly in the excesses of the 1980s, Wrathbone introduces us to Nigel Wrathbone (Steve Flavin), a rock star whose career has seen the dizzying heights of fame and the inevitable humiliation of falling out of fashion. Through a mockumentary-style interview, we piece together the story of a man who seemingly had everything, only to discover that fame, fortune and a lifetime of bad decisions come with a rather unpleasant final bill. This is not new idea but how the story unfolds.
There is a definite This Is Spinal Tap quality to the proceedings, particularly in the way the film plays with the absurdities, egos and ridiculous mythology of the rock business. Orginal song titles are somewhat int he same vein or artery as that fictional band of actually virtuiosius musicians. There are also shades of Velvet Goldmine, with its fascination for the manufactured personalities, theatrical excess and mythology surrounding rock stardom.
Nigel’s band is an interesting creation in itself. Imagine a vocalist who looks like Marc Bolan or Ian Hunter but sounds like a curious combination of Axl Rose, Bon Scott and Klaus Meine from the Scorpions. It is a rather wonderful musical cocktail, and the film has considerable fun with its mixture of influences. This isn’t simply a band trying to recreate one particular sound. It feels like a whole era of hard rock and metal has been thrown into a blender, with the volume turned up considerably.
For a while, the hits keep coming. Then comes Hellhound, which is on a Wrathbone album that signals the beginning of the end. Suddenly, the audience isn’t interested, the music industry has moved on, and hair metal is being pushed aside for something altogether more polished and commercially palatable. Nigel’s increasingly erratic behaviour doesn’t help matters. His bandmates recognise the trouble brewing, and just when they appear ready to get their next big album off the ground, tragedy strikes in the viein of Lynyrd Skynyd. A plane crash kills the rest of the band, leaving Nigel alone with his memories, his guilt , a last intrument tape and the consequences of a life spent chasing the next high.
One of the film’s strongest elements is its commitment to the music. With five original songs, including “Balls to the Wall”, not the Accept metal song “Vertigo”, “Hell Hounds”, “Life’s a Bitch” and the wonderfully cheesy “Dreaming”, there is plenty here for anyone with a fondness for big hair, leather trousers and meandering note filled guitar solos that soem think is shreading that seem to go on forever. The accompanying music-video sequences are particularly entertaining, recreating the spirit of MTV’s Headbangers Ball. The soundtrack is practically another character in the film, and Flavin clearly understands the musical world he is sending up however it does seem like is marketing the soundtrack a bit much. Video bands that exist only within that realm.
There is also something amusingly nostalgic about the film’s treatment of heavy metal and the devil. I remember the endless arguments about whether listening to heavy metal , playing Dungeons and Dragons was an express ticket to eternal damnation. Parents, preachers and religious leaders seemed convinced that somewhere between the guitar solos and the long hair, Satan was waiting to collect his next customer. Unfortunaley there are peopel stil that believe this.
One curious observation, though, is just how few women populate this particular rock-and-roll universe. Where are the female PR people, concertgoers, fans and groupies? Apart from a rather memorable bondage-clad woman serving drinks aboard a plane, women are practically absent from the picture. It is an odd omission, particularly when the film is recreating an era whose rock mythology was so heavily associated with groupies and the backstage circus. Perhaps it is another deliberate exaggeration of the all-male rock fantasy, but it does leave the world feeling somewhat narrower than the scene I remember.
The film’s second half doesn’t quite maintain the same momentum as its opening stretch, and some of the storytelling loses a little of the energy established earlier. Nevertheless, the concept, the musical performances and the wonderfully over-the-top atmosphere carry it through.
Ultimately, Wrathbone is a good time if not filled with familair ideas for anyone who appreciates horror musicals with a sense of humour and a soundtrack that doesn’t mind turning everything up to eleven. It fits right up there the silly Foo Fighters film 666 for many to see rececently deseased drummer Taylor Hawkins , not as cool as That’ll be the day with David Essex, Keith Moon and Ringo Starr . This films understands the pleasure of taking a ridiculous premise for a new genration and running with it.
So put on the leather jacket that actually weights something, tease that hair if you still have it , crank up the volume and enjoy the ride. Just remember: fame is fleeting, musical tastes change, and apparently the devil has an excellent memory. Life’s a bitch. And in Nigel Wrathbone’s case, the afterlife is even worse.
