This Is Spinal Tap

"This Is Spinal Tap" has been re-released!

Some of you scurried off to the theaters after reading that announcement. [Not likely now! — ed.] The rest of you no doubt retain some curiosity as to why the film is being re-released. There is no new footage, which is normally the prima facie reason for these second go-rounds. The soundtrack has supposedly been remastered (for the film's upcoming release on DVD), but human ears would probably only be able to detect the difference at a theater with glorious sound like the Uptown, and certainly not at one of the bandbox cinemas along Connecticut and Wisconsin Avenues that this re-release will undoubtedly end up inhabiting. The filmmakers and actors have seized the opportunity of a re-release to engage in numerous hyping activities, but these are more for the filmmakers and actors than for the audience. The truth is that there is no obvious reason for this re-release.

And yet, one must ask, does there need to be a reason? "This Is Spinal Tap" is one of the most brilliant comedies of the last twenty years, inventing the now much-abused "mockumentary" genre and inspiring such inferior but nonetheless entertaining follow-ups as "Fear of a Black Hat" and "Waiting for Guffman." "This Is Spinal Tap" embraces all the conventions of the rock documentary--somewhat listless camerawork, a fawning approach towards its subjects, concert footage spliced with interviews spliced with "backstage" roundtables, Rob Reiner's massive directorial beard--to provide a perfect backdrop for three of the most wondrous drop-deadpan comic performances ever: Michael McKean as David St. Hubbins, Christopher Guest as Nigel Tufnel, and Harry Shearer as Derek Smalls.

In an era dominated by craftsmanship-challenged comedies that either overdrive themselves into meaninglessness or indulge themselves in languorous meanderings, we may well need to be reminded that it is possible to construct a comic conceit, think it through thoroughly, and execute it with enough attention to detail so the filmmaking actually enhances the comedy. And in an era when so much attention is paid to comic actors whose main talents seem to be degrading themselves in new and inventive ways or conforming exactly to an undemanding audience's expectations, we may need to be reminded as well of the value of comic timing, wordplay that arises naturally from its environment, and the consistency of deportment that makes playing a total lunkhead so convincing. And what better place to remind ourselves of these comic-cinematic virtues than at the local multiplex, by bypassing inferior offerings like "Whipped" and "The Crew" and sampling the real thing?

So, go. Go see "This Is Spinal Tap" in the theater, even though there's no real reason to. Go whether it's your first time or your fiftieth. Marvel at director Reiner's wonderfully worshipful portrayal of documentary filmmaker Marty DiBergi, and his effortless yet precise control of tone throughout the film. Chuckle at the brilliantly juvenile lyrics to songs like "Big Bottom" and "Sex Farm." Enjoy the hijinks that ensue when the band can't find the stage, or when a model of Stonehenge is mistakenly made a foot-and-a-half high, with disastrous results. Split your pants laughing at impeccably delivered classic lines like "There's a thin line between clever and stupid" and "But this one goes up to eleven." Feel better about yourself for catching the references to Led Zeppelin, The Who, Aerosmith the Rolling Stones, the Beatles and other such bands, but don't feel bad if you have no knowledge of such bands, either. You don't need such knowledge to appreciate this comic classic. All you need to do is hit the theater.

FROM THE SPINE TO THE CEREBELLUM

Michael Sapoznikow, a master of arcana who saw the film with me, wishes to transmit the following information. Actually, he wrote it down in skeleton form last night, and wishes me to turn it into complete sentences. It may be valuable to those of you who, like me, care about comic cinema deeply but hold no burning torch for vintage rock music:

• The four bands which are most clearly parodied in the film are Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, The Who, and the Rolling Stones. The Beatles have one obvious parody, in "Listen to the Flower People." Honorable mentions include Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, and David Bowie.
• The dying drummers gag is based on the deaths of Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham (who was sensitively memorialized by classical composer Christopher Rouse, BTW) and The Who drummer Keith Moon.
• The plot's outline of the girlfriend destroying the group is a reference to Yoko Ono's interventions in the Beatles.
• Harry Shearer resembles Beatles drummer Ringo Starr (I am not interested in making anyone feel ignorant, is why I am including all these identifiers), Christopher Guest resembles Ozzy, and Michael McKean resembles both Led Zeppelin's lead singer Robert Plant and the lead singer of The Who, whose name Michael could not remember. But with all that info, I think we should let that one lapse slide. Thanks, Mike.

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