It’s One Louder: “This is Spinal Tap” Turns 41 | Features

When we think of Rob Reiner’s groundbreaking and beloved mockumentary “This Is Spinal Tap,” we remember the customized Marshall amp where the numbers all go to 11, and the timeless observation that “It’s such a fine line between stupid and clever,” and the priceless visual gags involving the disastrously tiny Stonehenge prop and the band getting hopelessly lost in a maze of backstage corridors in Cleveland. All of those Greatest Hits moments, and many more, once again killed when I watched the meticulously remastered and remixed “Golden Anniversary” edition of “Tap,” playing in theaters July 5-7—but I was also struck by the precise and finely calibrated nature of the editing, which upon further review should have been considered for an Academy Award nomination.

No joke.

We know that director Reiner and primary cast members Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Shearer created a detailed outline for the film with virtually zero dialogue, leaving the ensemble cast to come up with some of the most ingenious improvised dialogue in motion picture comedy history—but it was left to Reiner and editor Kent Beyda to sift through more than 100 hours of raw footage and pare it down to a lean, perfectly paced, 82-minute gem. (This was an age of relatively brisk comedies, with “Airplane!”, “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” “The Jerk,” “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure,” and “Police Academy” all clocking in at under 100 minutes.)

One of the delights in revisiting “Spinal Tap” is appreciating how so many scenes are just the right length, often building to a classic punch line just before we cut to the following sequence, e.g., the low-key moment when Guest’s Nigel Tufnel is playing a lovely and understated passage on the piano and talking about how D minor is the saddest of keys. He tells Reiner’s Marty DiBergi, “I’m really influenced by Beethoven and Bach, it’s sort of in between those, really, it’s like a ‘Mach’ piece…” 

Marty asks, “What do you call this?”

[The briefest pause.] “Well, this piece is called ‘Lick My Love Pump.’ ”

It’s just masterful absurdity.

“This Is Spinal Tap” was not the first mockumentary of the modern era. James McBride’s 1967 feature-length film “David Holzman’s Diary,” starring L.M. Kit Carson as the titular character, is a fascinating, fictional, and disturbing work posing as an autobiographical documentary. (The entire film is available on YouTube.) In 1979, Albert Brooks lampooned the PBS documentary series “An American Family” with “Real Life.” Still, “Tap” is the undeniable GOAT of the genre—a multi-layered masterpiece that gently lampoons the rock documentary, most obviously Scorsese’s “The Last Waltz,” while perfectly recreating the structure of such films. Reiner, Guest, McKean, and Shearer teamed up to create characters so ridiculous and yet so authentic that they’ve remained a part of the pop culture fabric ever since their careers were resuscitated when “Sex Farm” became a surprise hit in Japan. The band performed in character on “Saturday Night Live” and MTV in the 1990s, among other shows, and they recorded two follow-up albums to the “Spinal Tap” soundtrack. They’ve performed live here and there, perhaps most memorably at Live Earth London in 2007, where they performed their powerful eco-anthem “Warmer Than Hell.”

Such lofty achievements hardly seemed possible at the outset of “This Is Spinal Tap,” which finds the band amid a rapid downward spiral as they embark on their first tour of the United States in six years. The record company doesn’t want to release their album, “Smell the Glove,” because the proposed cover art is deeply offensive. Whereas they were once playing 15,000-seat arenas, the venues booked for this tour are more in the 1,200- to 1,500-seat range. When Di Bergi asks the blundering but ebullient band manager Ian Faith (the late Tony Hendra, sublimely funny) if this is a sign the band’s popularity is waning, Faith replies, “Oh no…not at all. I just think their appeal is becoming selective.” Poor Ian. We realize he’s drowning before he does.

We’re also treated to a brief history of the band, and how perfect is that faux archival footage! The boys started out as The Originals, had to rename themselves The New Originals, and had come to be known as The Thamesman when they hit the charts in 1965 with “Pop, Look & Listen,” as we see in a gloriously grainy, black-and-white clip, with a pre-dental work group delivering an infectious tune you’ll find yourself humming. Oh, and there’s Ed Begley Jr. as the drummer John “Stumpy” Pepys, who died in a bizarre gardening accident, thus kicking off the astonishing and inexplicable string of tragic demises of stickmen. (RIP to Eric “Stumpy Joe” Childs, who choked on vomit that was not necessarily his own.) Equally spot-on is the clip of the boys singing the flower-pop tune “Jamboreepop,” with director Reiner perfectly capturing the state of pop music and American variety shows of 1967, complete with kaleidoscopic visual effects and the sound of a Coral Sitar. With Guest and McKean leading the way, these performances are funny but also enormously charming because they’re authentic. From the innocent pop days through the spandex-clad metal group roaring through ridiculous power anthems such as “Big Bottom” and “Hell Hole,” the musicianship sells the joke.

There’s such a vibe of gentle affection in the satire of “Tap,” a tone that greatly influenced Guest’s classic mockumentaries such as “Waiting for Guffman” (1996) and “A Mighty Wind” (2003), as well as the brilliant IFC series “Documentary Now!” Even when the band visits Elvis’ grave and claim Elvis was going to do a musical version of “Somebody Up There Likes Me,” or they arrive at the Holiday Inn in Chicago and the marquee reads, “WELCOME NATIONAL COMPANY OF THE WIZ AND SPINAL TAP,” there’s not a mean-spirited element in the film’s DNA.

When the band isn’t onstage, there’s still a musical rhythm to that improvised dialogue, with Guest as Tufnel and McKean as David St. Hubbins taking the reins in most scenes, and Shearer as Derek Smalls knowing just when to chime in with a perfectly delivered, droll tagline. Equally impressive is the work of the day players—some already well-known, some on their way up—who show up for a scene or two and never drop the ball, creating instantly memorable characters. Billy Crystal and Dana Carvey as mime waiters. Bruno Kirby as a limo driver who’s all about Sinatra. Fran Drescher, who essentially created the voice of “The Nanny” with her depiction of the publicist Bobbi Flekman. Howard Hesseman as a condescending manager for another act who says to Ian and the band, “Listen, we’d love to stand around and chat, but we’ve gotta sit in the lobby and wait for the limo.” Anjelica Huston as the artist who creates the mini-Stonehenge stage set. Paul Shaffer as Artie Fufkin, the hapless and unctuous rep for Polymer Records. Fred Willard as Lt. Hookstraten. All of these performances contribute to the creation of a deadpan “Spinal Tap” universe that is utterly farcical yet wholly relatable.

In honor of the film’s golden anniversary (because everyone knows 41 is traditionally the Gold Anniversary), “This Is Spinal Tap” will be in theaters nationwide from July 5-7. In September, we’ll get the long-anticipated sequel, “Spinal Tap II: The End Continues,” with director Marty Di Bergi chronicling the band’s misadventures as they reunite for one last show. We’ve seen reports of celebrity cameos ranging from Paul McCartney to Elton John to Questlove to Garth Brooks to Lars Ulrich. That’s all fine and good, but one hopes those superstars don’t upset the balance of everything that made the original so good—and they better come to play. When you’re sharing the screen with Spinal Tap, you’re in the presence of mockumentary greatness.

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