THIS IS SPINAL TAP (1984) (A) - I might as well just link to the "quotes" section of IMDb for the pioneering mockumentary. While the novelty has long worn off, this goof on pompous British metal bands still has a hit rate that is unmatched.
The film often is barely more than a series of divinely inspired comedy sketches, many with punchlines you can still quote 40 years later. "Well, it's one louder." "This piece is called 'Lick My Love Pump.'" "No, we're not gonna fucking do Stonehenge!" "What's wrong with being sexy?" "Mime is money." "I shouldn't talk, though, I'm getting a little shaggy myself." "We've got armadillos in our trousers." "How could I leave this behind?" "It's a fine line between stupid and clever." "Hello, Cleveland!" And the marquee: PUPPET SHOW and Spinal Tap.
Part of the genius here is not so much the send-up of a pretentious band; it is the rich history of Spinal Tap, from fresh-scrubbed skiffle players, through the psychedelic flower-power '60s, into their calling card as one of England's "loudest bands," known for cycling through countless drummers who meet untimely deaths -- most notably the one who perished choking on vomit (just not his own). Add to the mix a growing rancor between the band's co-leaders, Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) and David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean) -- complete with a conniving new-age Yoko villain (June Chadwick) -- and you've got a strong narrative arc to put some meat on the bones of an 82-minute lark. Harry Shearer ties it all together as the dim-witted bassist (the band's "lukewarm water") -- whether he's having an on-stage mechanical malfunction, jamming out to "jazz odyssey," or trying to pass through airport security with a foil-wrapped zucchini down his pantleg. Rob Reiner, as the fictional filmmaker Marty DiBergi, is the ultimate straight man.
A parade of ringers passes through with spot-on turns: Ed Begley Jr., Fran Drescher, Billy Crystal, Paul Benedict, Paul Shaffer, Anjelica Huston, Bruno Kirby, National Lampoon veteran Tony Hendra as their bumbling manager, and Fred Willard as a square Air Force officer welcoming the band to another humiliating gig.
One of the keys here is the authentic musical background of McKean, Guest and Shearer, who not only improvised much of the dialogue but wrote and performed the songs. And credit goes to Reiner for his vision, which also riffs on the form of the "rockumentary" itself, such as "Don't Look Back," "The Song Remains the Same," or "The Last Waltz" -- right down to the details of the lip sores and fatuous guitar solos. Guest would go on to get accolades over the years for his string of hilarious mockumentaries, with many people assuming he made this one, too.
Let's not overthink it. Relish the song lyrics, the zingers, the pitch-perfect British accents, the shaggy hairstyles, the divine improv. It all landed at the right moment in time, and it was an instant classic.
SPINAL TAP II: THE END CONTINUES (C) - Reiner's final film turned out to be this tepid sequel reuniting his fellow senior citizens. Let's be kind to the boys and grant them their valedictory. Such generosity is especially warranted considering this is Reiner valedictory.
A tip of the hat to Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Shearer, who all look like old women, as Reiner's Marty DiBergi catches up with the band -- scattered around the UK and America performing demeaning tasks in semi-retirement -- and follows them as they convene and rehearse for a farewell concert. The film has a promising start, as DiBergi tracks down the lads in their obscure circumstances -- Nigel Tufnel running a cheese and guitar shop; Derek Smalls a proprietor of a glue museum, and David St. Hubbins gigging in a mariachi combo.
But soon the unintended irony kicks in, as a loving tribute to musicians who have lost a step is rendered by a bunch of comedians whose best days are behind them. As vivid as the one-liners from the original remain to this day, the limp sequel effervesces after the credits roll. The core quartet brings in a different brand of ringers -- drummers like Lars Ulrich and Questlove, who gingerly decline to occupy the hot seat, and then big-time dinosaurs like Paul McCartney and Elton John. McCartney is his usual annoying, cloying self, while John actually injects some life into classics like "Flower People" and "Stonehenge."
The narrative -- will they pull it together for the reunion show? -- barely holds together. Jokes thud. Cameos from the likes of Bobbi Flekman and Artie Fufkin lack any zip. It's all rather quaint but mostly unnecessary.
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