Heavy metal dreamin’

Anvil! The Story of Anvil starts with an annoying series of talking heads, metal heroes like Scott Ian from Anthrax and Tom Araya from Slayer, all asking the same stupid question: Why didn’t Anvil make it big?

That’s easy. Their music, even for the metalfied times of the early ’80s, just wasn’t very good, or original. Anvil sounded like the Canadian Judas Priest at the height of an era defined by bands that sounded like Judas Priest.

What makes Anvil remarkable, then, and worthy subjects of a documentary, is their unwillingness to see the truth. They never stopped believing, even after three decades of failure. Watching their sad hubris is fascinating.

Anvil the band? Boring. Anvil! the documentary? Entertaining.

The aforementioned talking heads are the worst part of the film, because they are the least honest. I don’t believe, even for a second, that these industry veterans are confused as to why Anvil didn’t make it. But why pick on a band that’s been deluding themselves their entire life? It’d be like kicking a puppy, albeit one who’s into Satan.

Luckily, director Sacha Gervasi doesn’t fall into this trap, as he wisely dives right into the lives of guitarist/singer Steve “Lips” Kudlow and drummer Robb Reiner. They’re in their late 40s scrapping by with crappy jobs—Kudlow delivers cafeteria food—and desperately playing bar gigs on the weekends.

We know from archival footage that they’ve played to some big crowds, especially in Japan, but they’re 12 albums past their prime. Kudlow is especially manic about his dreams. “I just need to make it, man.” “I just want to be famous.” “These songs are great!” He repeats these whiney affirmations again and again, the camera clearly pleasing him. Reiner seems more down to earth, like he accepted his place in life but is hanging on just for the hell of it. (Being stoned constantly seems to help his mellow.)

Then the band is contacted by a woman in Europe who claims to be a promoter. She is not, but books the band a tour anyway. It’s disastrous, but highly entertaining. This is the real life Spinal Tap, with lost clubs, embarrassing turnouts and grand, grand delusions.

Speaking of the famed mockumentary, it’s worth noting that Anvil! is chock-full of allusions to the genre defining work, including a trip to Stonehenge and a knob that goes to 11. What unites the fictional band of This is Spinal Tap and the real-life Anvil is a total lack of irony and an embrace of literal imagery. (Really? You named your “metal” band Anvil? And your most famous song is called “Metal on Metal”?)

Some time after the band ends their European tour, they decide, excitedly, to make a new record called This is Thirteen. (Yes, it’s their 13th record.) They even manage to rope in their old producer, a fairly famous type from England who also had his heyday during the ’80s. One problem: It’s going to cost a lot of money. But Kudlow is sure this is worth the more-than-$20,000 expense and his sister eventually agrees to pay for it.

The recording process is a time of great, and entertaining, conflict that underscores the band’s intractable, idiotic optimism. Here’s a cold, hard fact: If you can’t get more than 50 people to a show in your hometown, flying to England and recording an album for eight weeks is not a reasonable proposition.

Once the album is done, they painfully try to shop it around to record labels, again, unaware, or unwilling to see, that ’80s metal played play haggard dads is not a marketable commodity. (Also, yelling, “These songs are so fucking good,” at an A&R dude probably won’t change his mind.)

The band eventually decides to self-release and the movie ends on a note of triumph when the band plays a big festival in Japan. Which makes sense; the Japanese do love relics of foreign culture.

What makes Anvil! The Story of Anvil a success, and a truly great work of cinema, is that it renders a portion of the human condition—in this case self-delusion—in fascinating detail. It’s beautiful and tragic and funny and real.