Through The Never
I’ve already – recently – bemoaned the fact that Metallica continues to piss on whatever legacy it has with each and every release and yet, somehow, somehow, Through The Never – a concert film, released in 3D with a storyline about a roadie needing to save the day, which stands completely detached from the songs in the film, apart from conceptually – has been lapped up by many. It seems, in fact, the film – and its, er, concept – is so utterly fucking absurd that the drongo-ism of Metallica has now lapped itself and the band eats up its own shitty ideas and spits them back out – as finished product – in a rate so alarming as to be truly horrifying; you’d want to check the credits twice to check this isn’t executive produced by Vince McMahon.
I’ve long thought Metallica was becoming the pro-wrestling of music – a dubious honour, and one I thought KISS had sewn up (and branded of course, their emblem along the stitching). Turns out Mr Cardboard-Box-Bass-Drum and the Siberian Tiger-hunting ham-fisted, hoarse-throated rhythm-guitarist-cum-lead-yelper have long had ideas on packaging up metal for the mainstream, taking whatever kudos they had – at one point – earned and dressing it up as a circus act for the dumbed and lamest of bogans. The brogans, actually – stoned-up flanny-wearing morons.
Here Metallica’s circus-act of almost-hits is trotted out in PG-13 style, a style they’ve been working towards since Load/Re-Load. But we have to keep our eyes on the actor playing a reluctant roadie – you see he causes not just friction but actual sparks and the sparks lead to CGI explosions on stage – big expensive dolly shots capture James Hetfield’s appalling acting and the dialled-up reactions of a phone-a-friend audience of extras. And it’s all been designed to seem all wow and gosh when you’re on the weed, bro. And watching it in extreme 3D. Quite possibly with your mates Beavis and Butthead.
The look and feel of the film – and the film within the film – is insultingly 80s. Like No Holds Barred as concert film.
I could keep typing but as I add to this file somewhere/everywhere salivating Metallica fans are now mildly embarrassed that they’ve started to rub one out while their parents are reading this review aloud for them. Computer desk legs are being licked and humped. Mum and dad don’t know where to look – don’t look down, oh god, no, don’t look down. And there’s white wee-wee seeping out as finally the Metallica Brogan Fans have connected that ultimate possibility that their favourite Once-A-Metal-Band and Almost-a-Sport have done what they and their best mate have just achieved. They’ve truly come together.
This soggy biscuit of a concert film stinks of dank, shameful failure. But there’s an afterglow attached – a dumb, dim grin. Someone – probably Lars, it usually is – will be feeling very pleased with themselves…