I was lucky to see a preview of the documentary (or “rockumentary”) of the aging Canadian heavy metal band Anvil, called, of all things, Anvil: The True Story of Anvil. They’ve been together for over 30 years and have over a dozen albums out . . . yet they never seemed to take off.

It is a touching and well-crafted film. The absurdity and frequent stupidity of Anvil are well balanced against a sensitive grasp of the humanity that serves as the foundation to their efforts. This film is really an emblem for the spiritual underpinnings of heavy metal, all the generous and worthwhile elements of a life well-lived that are too often boiled down into tired slogans: stick together, me against the world, don’t stop believing, we’re not going to take it, stand and deliver, fight the good fight, stand together as one, never surrender . . . . these simple sentiments have often been misconstrued (particularly when taken with the truly dumb adolescent sexual content) to be faintly fascist in nature (indeed, as it exists in hardcore music, it essentially is fascistic). But the film shows that most of these guys are actually gentle giants, as attached to their families and friends as any of us would hope to be. They are almost always harmless (except to themselves). The strength of that faith (that “we” will make it no matter what happens) in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary actually brings a tear to the eye. It reminds one of both American Movie and the Alamo (the battle, not the movie). The spirit to succeed against all odds, or, as William Faulkner put it in his famous Nobel acceptance speech, that we will not merely endure but prevail. One merely need replace “poet and “writer” with “heavy metal singer.” Observe:

“I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The heavy metal singer’s duty is to sing about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The singer’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.”

While the humanity of the film may bring a tear to the eye, what brings a smile to the lips is the inanity of the band and its allied artistic efforts (such as those fabulously self-parodic album covers). Nothing uttered by any member of the cast manages to rise much above the level of platitude, and any given scene seems merely to poke ill-natured fun at the band, but when these pieces are taken in toto a different vision emerges, one concerned less with the badness of the band and more with the goodness of its members.

Of course, one thing the film-maker was compelled to do is to draw attention to the human story and away from the music, which is simply awful. It really is. The parade of asshole rockstars in the prologue (Slash, Lars Ulrich) talk about how influential the band allegedly was once upon a time from the comfort of their mansions, but they never lent a helping hand when it actually would have mattered. But how could one have helped them? Historically speaking, Anvil was out of date within moments of their debut. They are the musical equivalent of the DoDo: large, lumbering, endearing in its way, but too trusting and slow to evade faster predators who arrived. Heavy metal was forced to grow up very quickly. By the early nineties, it had ossified, of course, and become something of a museum music, like bluegrass or baroque music: expert technicians reproducing the innovations that had long since passed into the realm of cliche and convention.

It is difficult to believe that Anvil were ever really influential and any serious way. Many threads of the film, like that one, are less than persuasive, but in the end all is redeemed by the warmth of the characters. As with Spinal Tap, we laugh at the characters but sympathize with them, recognize ourselves in them — and that stands as one of the truly humanizing things we can do, because life is both tragic and comic, and art should help us to live life better and more fully. The film is a tribute not to music, or even a long-lost age of pop culture, but to the endurance and kindness and frailties of friendship.

I give this film a big devil horn’s up!

Anvil performing Metal on Metal