Well, I Dug It

Today's blog is a story, a review, and a recommendation all rolled into one.

I mentioned it once on my 2004 Movie List, and once in my blog on New Year's Eve. But maybe it's time I talk more in depth about it.

It's a movie called "Dig!"

"Dig!" is a documentary that tells one hell of a story. It's the story of two rock bands. One is The Dandy Warhols and the other is The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Now, The Dandy Warhols I knew of and liked, in that way that one likes a band with a cute lead singer and a good song they know (in this case, the song "Heroin"). The Brian Jonestown Massacre I'd never heard of, but thought with a name like that they must be a force to be reckoned with.

Now, the Dandys and the Massacre start out together, trying to make their ways in the Big Bad Music World. They are all friends and comrades. Ugly, obnoxious, hedonistic comrades. I mean, these guys take drugs like they were dinner mints.

And at the center of all this is the friendship, as it were, of the bands' respective lead singers, the Dandys' Courtney and the Massacre's Anton. Courtney's a cute, loveable sort of a slug, a slacker, able to charm his way in and out of life. And he writes good songs, too.

Anton, is, however, a madman. And not even a good kind of a madman. He's a meglomaniacal, emotionally and mentally unstable wacko. He's also pretty damn near close to genius as a songwriter.

And so the bands begin their trip down life's passage into fame or oblivion. They do the talent showcases, they play clubs, they do touring in the broken down cars and vans. Eventually a record company exec or two take notice of the Dandys, and offer them a deal and their Big Break.

The Massacre, however, can't catch a break. This is because every time opportunity comes knocking at their door they either 1) have just gone out to get cigarettes, 2) are too stoned to find the door, much less answer it, or 3) go to the door and tell opportunity to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Oh, sure. They play the talent showcases just like the Dandys do. Only during their sets they inevitably do everything they can to screw it all to hell. "Screwing it all to hell" can mean several things, but it generally means one thing: fighting.

This band loves to fight more than a drunken football hooligan. And they don't just exchange displeasantries, they go at it. They knock each other down, throw punches, hit each other with instruments, walk offstage, and then walk back onstage so they can fight with a member they forgot to fight with before.

And of course, record company executives generally don't go in for this sort of thing. As a rule.

And so the Dandys get a record deal and get to make a real record in a real studio with a real video attached to it and everything. And while this is going on, the Massacre are doing their thing as well. They make (I think the total was) five albums in one year. Each with a budget of approximately $5.49. And they're brilliant records. And Courtney knows this, sitting in his real studio making a real record.

Now, while Courtney, who is buddies with Anton and the Massacre, but also deeply envies Anton's songwriting talents, is languishing away in his real studio, he and the Dandys are beginning to realize something: a big record deal is not all it's cracked up to be. Because all those things that the Massacre do sitting in their living rooms making $5.49 albums that make them so brilliant, a record company won't let a band do.

So, here's where we are: Courtney loves his buddy Anton, but is jealous of his genius and his band's freedom to do what they want. And Anton loves his buddy Courtney, but is jealous of the fact that they got signed to a deal and now make videos where they wear makeup and have women dancing around them.

And then there's that thing we have to remember: Anton is a wacko.

As sometimes happens when someone is (and I think this is the correct psychological term) fuckin' nuts, the story tends to take some really interesting turns. Soon Anton and his jealousy cross to the, well, the hinky side. Strange things start happening. Like, the Massacre record an anti-Dandys song called "Not If You Were The Last Dandy On Earth." And then Anton decides he's going to show up at a Dandys concert to give free copies out to Dandys fans. On roller skates.

There's nothing quite like seeing a crazy man, high off his ass, armful of albums, in the middle of the city, on roller skates. Especially when he can't skate.

But that's not where it ends. Anton comes to a Dandys concert, and throws a Dandy a box. In it are all kinds of random items, each attached to a threat. Most of a bodily harming nature.

Meanwhile, the Dandys, realizing that a record deal isn't the be-all and end-all, go north to take their own sweet time recording their next stuff, and the Massacre keep doing more of the same. Writing, recording, fighting, and screwing up any chances they get at success.

Then the Dandys discover something: while their US record company isn't doing a damn thing to promote them, they've become superstars in Europe! So they tour abroad where the press and the kids alike adore them.

And the Massacre struggle. And fight. In fact, now people are coming to their concerts just to see them beat the hell out of each other. If they don't, the crowd will pelt them with bottles, food, and garbage, trying to provoke one. And they're generally successful.

At this point in the film, there's a scene that pretty much sums up the whole Dandys/Massacre experience. The Massacre, who've got something of a record deal from a small upstart label (they sent a member other than Anton to do the meet and greet), are traveling through the States in a van and what looks like a 1985 Oldsmobile 98. Somewhere in the wilds of Georgia, they're pulled over for speeding. Anton, who's driving, doesn't have a license. The police ask to search their vehicles, and he graciously says, "Why yes sir, you look at anything you want." And while everyone piles out of the van and the members are telling the police that Georgia is the loveliest state they've ever seen, the police find a bag of marijuana. (Only pot? That's a miracle.) And so the whole lot of them are hauled off to jail. The record company bails out Anton, but leaves the rest of the band to languish in the Grey Bar Hotel.

The Dandys, however, are in France, where they're almost on a level with Jerry Lewis. They get caught by the French police enjoying some of the illegal leaf as well. Their punishment? A lecture from the police about how they can't do that in France, and a fine approximately equal to the price of two Dandy Warhols t-shirts - and they get to keep the pot!

Poor Brian Jonestown Massacre.

Eventually, while the Dandys make their way back home and learn to live with their level of success (they open up an Andy Warhol "Factory" type establishment for themselves and other bands), the Massacre disintegrate. One last concert where the fighting gets to a level where there's just no chance of making back up. It's over.

As the film ends, Anton is going it alone. We see him onstage, there on a stool in his poncho, strumming away. About four bars into his first song, someone in the crowd angers him. He starts yelling. He gets hit with what looks like a tomato. He storms off, leaving his accompaniment still there wondering what to do.

So, it was a long story. It's a long movie. The damn thing took seven years to film. Yep, the director followed these guys for seven years.

I'm sure that if "Dig!" isn't out on DVD yet (I caught it on the Sundance channel), it will be before long. Please, I beseech you, if you only rent one movie this year, get this one. You won't be sorry. I promise you won't.

Now, a postscript to all this.

When we were in New Orleans, we ducked into a Tower Records and Mr M, nice guy that he is (though you didn't hear it from me), told me to pick out any CD I wanted. I thought, "Hmmm, what's something I'd like that I'd never normally buy for myself?" And then I made my way over to the Brian Jonestown Massacre. I picked a "greatest hits" (a misnomer if there ever was) collection and took it home.

Then my first day back at work after the trip, I received a surprise package in the mail from Mike, man of mystery and movies (please keep a movie list this year Mike, we're begging ya). Inside what should I find but "13 Tales From Urban Bohemia," by the Dandy Warhols. I put it in my car CD player on the way home, where it not only stayed, but caused me to find long alternate routes home from work so I could listen and groove out.

Thursday night when I got home, heady with the realization that I didn't have to work on Friday, I started cleaning up and puttering around the house. I got out the BJM CD (which is called "Tepid Peppermint Wonderland") and played it. It's some trippy stuff, and it's great. It's a shame that a band so good were also so bad, and at the same time, if they hadn't been so bad, they wouldn't be so damn good. If that's not a vicious circle, I don't know what is.

So, see "Dig!" And listen to the Dandys. And the Massacre. And I was going to say keep a good thought for Anton, but I have a feeling Anton may be pretty much doing what he wants.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* As per instructions by Mr M, I must give credit where it's due for the line "take a flying fuck at a rolling donut." That would be Kurt Vonnegut.
* And speaking of bands, Mr L of the Unnamed Clarinet Quartet gave me a link that, I'm warning you, is completely addictive. It's the Band Name Generator. Go here and have a ball. I'll tell you later some of the great names it's come up with for me.
* May I publicly apologize for the fact that while in New Orleans I made a small joke about the tsunami being in a place called Phuket? This is before I knew there were any deaths at all, much less 155, 000. I'm not a mean person, really.