The notion of making a documentary on a band without using any of their music, footage, album covers or even pictures seems ludicrous. But, then, The Replacements were a ludicrous band. Their mystique has maintained in all this time, stories continue to circulate in an “I was there when…” fashion. They were the best band in the world. They were the worst band in the world. You either got it, or you didn’t. So why spoil it now?
The opening credits reveal that this “a potentially true story”, and proceeds in a ramshackle way. The only remotely musical thing that you hear is feedback. But it works. The Replacements, and front man/chief songwriter Paul Westerberg in particular, are notoriously difficult in allowing their music to be used on any old shit. Thus, it is unclear whether the film was designed in this way, or if rights to the band’s catalogue were impossible to secure. Director Gorman Bechard insists it was designed this way. But it is typical of The Replacements that a documentary on them would not feature them at all.
This is the ultimate band of misfits (except maybe The Misfits). A “fuck you” attitude to everybody. They were one of only five bands banned from Saturday Night Live, and the only one banned for their backstage antics (given that this is a show built by out-of-control addicts, that’s quite an achievement). It wasn’t unheard of for them to end shows by literally physically fighting on stage. They had songs as painful and beautiful as Here Comes a Regular and Unsatisfied, with songs like Gary’s Got a Boner and Dope Smoking Moron providing ample juxtaposition. Their first major music video for the MTV generation featured just four straight minutes of a close-up of a speaker, with each and every video from that album being exactly the same (although, one of them was in colour). And that’s just what happened publicly.
Their spectre looms large throughout, as fans - both famous and not (including, bizarrely, Norm from Cheers)- spin stories. They almost become mythical, as fables and Chinese whispers (is that racist? I don’t know) come thick and fast; Tommy Stinson dropped out of high school by going into the headmasters office and blasting the Stink track Fuck School from a cassette player. Bob Stinson once played an entire show in a bin, which fell over during a guitar solo. They once played a sober show of all their own material that was technically very good, and it was considered one of their worst shows. Are these stories true? “Potentially”.
And all of those stories are great. They really are. They’re entertaining and funny and shocking and all the rest of it. But, the heart and soul of the movie comes from the personal experiences of the fans. The most emotional point comes from a group of fans discussing the impact the band’s songs had on their lives as teenagers. Teenagers who didn’t fit in, teenagers who were outcasts. Westerberg’s constant lyrical tightrope walk between the pain that one can feel in those situations, and the humour he can’t help but bring to the party, struck a chord with everyone who “got” The Replacements. Unsatisfied from Let It Be (yes, they had the balls to call an album Let It Be) is referenced as one of their finest, and the lyrics to that one seem particularly apt to someone of that age;
Look me in the eye
Then tell me that I’m satisfied
Was you satisfied?
Before reaching a jaded age of kids, a mortgage and responsibility, that’s a question of most people’s minds. Add that to Westerberg’s delivery of sheer pain, which makes Mick Jagger sound positively satisfied.
Something else that strikes you is the differing opinions of everybody interviewed; The Gaslight Anthem’s Brian Fallon says that everything you love about alternative bands today is in “an album called Tim”. Somebody else thinks Tim sucks. Some say they lost it after Bob Stinson was fired, others say their first without him, Pleased To Meet Me, was their best album. Some hate that they added horns to Can’t Hardly Wait, others are offended that people didn’t know enough about rock ‘n’ roll to not expect horns on Can’t Hardly Wait. It all adds to the interest in a band who don’t care…but they kind of do care…but, fuck it, they don’t care.
The film stretches their formation, as a band formed solely to keep troubled kid Tommy out of trouble, to their onstage break up in Chicago in 1991, where towards the end of the gig, one by one, The Replacements were “replaced” by their roadies, told entirely through the eyes of fans and is possibly the best illustration of the band I have ever come across, including their records (which don’t prepare you for their shambolically brilliant live shows.
The one negative I would say is that the ending goes on a bit. As summaries and conclusions go, I think 15 minutes or so is a little too long.
If you know nothing about The ‘Mats, this may sometimes be difficult to follow. For example, discussing the front covers to Let It Be and Tim without seeing them renders the discussion moot to many. However, even for those people, the passion of those interviewed is often a heartwarming, particularly if there’s ever a band you have loved like a friend or family member. And if you don’t know much about them and you see the film…hey, you might be inspired to go check them out. If you love The ‘Mats, you’ll be digging out Hootenanny immediately after.
It's difficult to make a documentary on a band without using their music without it coming across as something from the Bio channel or E! But Bechard has pulled it off.
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