Metallica: Enter Night (51 page)

Their initial ambitions for the film were modest: this would essentially be a promotional tool, just as the 1991 documentary video
A Year and a Half in the Life of Metallica
had been for the
Black Album
. The deal was that Metallica would pay for the cost of producing the film but Berlinger and Sinofsky would be allowed unprecedented access. The two film-makers had dealt with the band previously on the soundtrack for
Paradise Lost
, a film ‘about heavy metal on trial as much as the kids accused in the film’, according to Berlinger. Since then there had been vague discussions about making a Metallica documentary movie, but ‘they’d always have the excuse, “We’re not ready to pull the curtain back”’, recalled Sinofsky. ‘As it turned out, the time that we were invited in, in March of 2001, they were at their most vulnerable, they were at their all-time low, at a time that you would expect that nobody would allow a camera crew – especially a crew like us who make very in-depth films. But they invited us in, gave us complete access; never told us, “We have a meeting now, so you can’t come in.” Every door was open, nothing was ever locked. We were never asked to leave. They treated us, in terms of access, better than any other project that we’ve been involved in.’

When they continued filming throughout the fall-out from James’ decision to lay down tools and seek psychiatric help, the film now transmogrified into something else entirely: a close-up study of people in crisis. Named
Some Kind of Monster
after one of the new tracks, the most surprising thing about this documentary full of shocks was that Metallica allowed it to be made at all. But then this was the new era of reality TV. Hetfield was still ensconced in his prolonged rehab programme when the first episodes of a groundbreaking new TV series called
The Osbournes
began airing in the USA – a phenomenon that had not escaped the Ulrich radar any more than it had anyone else’s in 2002. As the main driver behind the film project, Lars’ instincts to push Metallica towards the latest trends proved to be inspired this time, even though he could not have imagined how differently the film would eventually turn out. When it was premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in February 2004, film critics were so impressed that they put it forward for ‘Official Selection’. Some music critics predictably compared it to the spoof 1980s ‘rockumentary’
This is Spinal Tap
. But that was to miss the point entirely. Not only were there few laughs in
Some Kind of Monster
, the insights it offered of a major band unravelling before one’s very eyes struck a chord far beyond the rock and metal – or even alternative – audience. As such, it also achieved for Metallica something that the new album it showed them desperately struggling to make would not manage to do: rehabilitate their reputation, restoring them from out-of-touch, Napster-crushing millionaire spoilsports back to somewhere closer to the truth-preserving musical vigilantes they had been perceived as previously.

Not that they knew this at the time it was being filmed, as practically every scene from the movie makes clear. Indeed, rather than look like they were about to return as triumphant conquerors, for most of its 160 minutes
Some Kind of Monster
portrays Metallica as being hopelessly at sea. Beginning, literally, with their equipment being loaded into the Presidio, and ending over two and a half years later with the band’s first tour since Jason Newsted’s departure, via the Napster-baiting debacle, the arrival of Dr Towle, James’ sudden retreat into painstakingly lengthy rehab, the appointment of a new bassist, and many other things neither Berlinger or Sinofsky could possibly have predicted, we get a real sense of how close Metallica was to imploding throughout the months and eventually years the album and movie were being made. From those first few weeks in the studio, with James constantly ‘in a shit mood’ and at loggerheads in particular with Lars, to the excruciating eleven months he was away – when the others had no idea where he was, or if he was ever coming back, ‘I’m preparing for the worst,’ says Lars – the cameras keep rolling, defying rule number one of showbiz: never show the strings and wires.

‘Lars, Bob Rock and I had continued getting together for meetings just to keep the faith,’ recalled Kirk in 2003, ‘keep the momentum going and just keep in touch, because everything was falling apart around us and we felt that if we held strong and held it together at least we had each other. It was a pretty cold realisation that we hadn’t heard from James for X amount of time and I had to think of a back-up plan. I’m the kind of person who always needs back-up plans or, as my therapist says, exits, escape routes. So I sat down and thought about it long and hard and thought, “Do I have enough things in my life to fill the void if Metallica is gone?” And I discovered that I did. I also asked myself if I would carry on in music, and there was no question; it’s what I do. But was I ready for the big drop? And it would have been a drop; right back down to the ground, it would virtually have been like starting over for me. [But] after realising that I could, it gave me enough confidence to wait things out rather than just panic about the situation that was going on with the band.’

James, too, was conscious the band might be on the brink of collapse without him. ‘I think each one of us went through that possibility in our own minds, and what that meant to us, and that was a healthy thing,’ he reflected, ‘to identify that each one of us as people is more important than Metallica the thing, the machine and the creative force. I certainly went through that in rehab; I completely stripped everything about me to the bone and rebuilt myself as an individual. Growing up in Metallica was all I knew, and I didn’t realise how much I was using and manipulating with it. But yeah, after Jason left and I went into rehab the other guys certainly spun the wheels in their heads wondering how to control their futures when it wasn’t up to them, it wasn’t up to any of us really, but coming to that realisation was important. It made us stronger as individuals and it gave us real perspective on how much we mean to each other and how much we’d taken each other for granted.’

Kirk recalled how when James finally sent them a message, four months after leaving for rehab, ‘saying that he still needed some more time to sort things out and he had no idea how long that would be’, the band really did think it was over: ‘It was a long time coming. After we hadn’t heard from him for six weeks or so, Lars and I were driving each other loony speculating on what he was doing and why we hadn’t heard from him and what was going on in his head. In the meantime, friends would come up to us and say: “I ran into James at the mall. Damn, he looks good.” And we’re like: “What is this? Friends of the band are seeing James and we’re left in this holding pattern.” That continued through the whole of September and October until the third week of November. My wife had a surprise [birthday] party for me and I saw this guy standing in the corner, casting a familiar shadow, and it was James. I was so glad to fucking see him, and I could instantly see from looking into his eyes that there was a new clarity there; a new awareness and a new sensitivity that I didn’t detect before. It was totally amazing, we were able to exchange a few words, and I was able to make sure for myself that he was okay and functioning on a somewhat sane level. But he told me, “You know, it’s still going to be some time.” So we actually didn’t start hooking up until March [2002] and only then did we start having meetings and reconnecting with each other. But that was the adjustment period that we had to go through to adjust to the new James Hetfield, and it was just as much of an adjustment for him to us.’

For James, his first time back with the band, was ‘very scary. Any of the firsts in sobriety are scary, just leaving rehab was scary. Going through some absolutely cathartic experiences [and] then coming out into the world was scary. You were in a nice little cocoon of safety there, so you can tear down and rebuild. But, oh boy, coming out was scary. “What should I do? What should I not do? Where should I go? Uh, I don’t want to go in here, because something might trigger me into this and that.” You know, the fear of just living, it was with me for a little while. So coming right back into the band, it just didn’t work. And it was hard to explain to them how it wasn’t time yet. I needed time to adjust to the world and I couldn’t just come and plug in because every time we plugged in and started playing together it was like a security blanket, the world went away and everything was fine. It was a safety zone and I didn’t want to forget about all the other stuff that had to happen; like me explaining to them what I need; how it’s different for me and how the dynamic has changed, and how we’re not going to be going on two-year tours any more. My family is important to me and I can’t let my children grow up without me and all the other priorities, how they lined up in my life. And it’s become contagious, you know, that stuff spread within the band and we all started taking a look at ourselves and becoming a lot more respectful of each other and our needs.’ He had felt like a stranger suddenly, he said: ‘Totally, I had to reintroduce myself to those guys and they didn’t know what to think…To them, to my wife, to everybody.’ Even, he said, ‘to myself: “Is this me talking? Man, I’m not even thinking about what I’m saying and all this shit’s coming out, you know, and it feels right and it feels okay.” And yes, especially to my wife, you know: “I know you, you’re very manipulative,” and addicts are pretty manipulative, and, “Ah, this is just an act,” and after two years, it’s a way of life now. But yeah, there was a whole dynamic change that had to happen within the group. And certain things had to shift…One person changes and everyone else around them, all relationships, friends, everything changed.’

One of the new conditions James requested was that he only work in the studio between midday and 4 p.m. each day – something the others acceded to, only to run out of patience when he then insisted they not work on the album either beyond those hours, prompting a scene in the movie where Lars – eaten up by James’ suggestion that no one even
discuss
the music in his absence – paces the room and tells him, ‘I realise now that I barely knew you before,’ followed by a shot of James taking off on his motorcycle to attend his infant daughter Marcella’s ballet lesson.

Other remarkable scenes from the movie include a cringingly painful meeting between Lars and Dave Mustaine that takes place while James is still in rehab. In this, the eternally wronged guitarist talks about how he still wishes the band had ‘woken me and said, “Dave, you need to get counselling,”’ rather than simply hand him a Greyhound ticket that cold morning in New Jersey in 1982. There are some equally telling scenes with Jason, in which he damns their recruitment of Towle as ‘really fucking lame’, and in which Lars, Kirk and Bob attend an Echobrain gig in San Francisco, only to discover Jason has already ‘left the building’ when they go backstage afterwards to wish him well. Then there is the now white-whiskered Cliff Burnstein sneaking a glance at his watch while listening to a playback of the album; Lars’ Gandalf-like father, Torben, suggesting they ‘delete’ a gloomy instrumental piece they had planned to open the album with; some evocative stock clips from the band’s past, notably one of a much younger James lifting a beer to toast some vast, outdoor festival audience, telling them how drunk he is; a clearly frustrated Kirk arguing – in vain – for at least one guitar solo on the new album. Up to a fitful climax in which the new album – almost too aptly titled
St. Anger
– is finally released to devastatingly bad reviews (not shown in the film) but still tops the US charts. There is a more genuine sense of epiphany, however, when, near the end, the band is shown shooting a video at San Quentin prison, with James shakily but touchingly assuming the mantle of the late Johnny Cash.

There are also giddy glimpses into the newly chilled Kirk Hammett sporting a cowboy hat on his now-long-again hair as he gazes out at the ranch he has purchased, or explaining how he recently took up surfing, an activity completely at odds with his previous image as someone who only came out after dark; the auction of most of Lars’ art collection at Christie’s in New York. ‘Can we get some more cocktails here?’ he asks, woozily, as the auction total passes the $40 million mark. Just as eye-watering are the scenes of Lars testifying before a senate committee, claiming that Napster had ‘hijacked our music’ as, outside, fans destroy their Metallica CDs; or Bob Rock trying to coax some music out of the fractured ambience that ensues after James finally returned to work, not just producing and playing bass, but throwing in lyrical ideas and doing his best to remain tight-lipped during their numerous therapy-induced squabbles.

Best – and worst – of all are the often toe-curling scenes with Dr Towle. Seen one moment sticking up signs in the studio with the words ‘Zone It’ on them, or suggesting the band enter a ‘meditative state’ when jamming together, some might find it easy to dismiss him as offering little they couldn’t have found just as easily in a self-help book. It’s through their sessions with Towle, however, that they finally address the fact that they never properly dealt with the death of Cliff Burton, and that they allowed that unexpressed grief to turn them against Jason first and then against themselves. As Towle told
Classic Rock
, ‘There was healing that needed to be done with Cliff Burton in using psycho-drama role-playing. We didn’t do it, but it was done in James’ rehab process. The band never said goodbye or grieved appropriately…They just ploughed on like they’ve always done, sweeping things under the rug…So much of what they’ve learned is that past undone and unfinished [business] contaminates the present.’

One of the less harrowing sequences in the movie shows them auditioning bass players. Early on, they vow the new guy will not suffer the same fate as Jason. Consequently, the people they try out come from high-profile bands in their own right, including Pepper Keenan from Corrosion of Conformity, Scott Reeder from Kyuss, Chris Wyse from The Cult, Twiggy Ramirez from A Perfect Circle, Eric Avery from Jane’s Addiction, and Danny Lohner from Nine Inch Nails. Each has something different to offer. But as Lars astutely points out, ‘If Cliff Burton showed up today maybe he wouldn’t be the guy, either.’ Eventually, though, the guy they do decide on, Rob Trujillo, has the most in common with Cliff musically – with his fulsome finger-picking style – and personally, in his laid-back, almost stoic ability to deal with anything the others might throw at him.