Post by StevePulaski on Jun 2, 2017 17:03:37 GMT -5
Bob and the Monster (2011)
Directed by: Keirda Bahruth
Directed by: Keirda Bahruth
Bob Forrest is the subject of Bob and the Monster.
Rating: ★★★
One of the hardest things about evaluating documentaries is, quite often, you're not sure how to distinguish one from having a great story, a great approach, or a delicate tightrope-walk of both. Keirda Bahruth's Bob and the Monster, at times, is better at one than the other, but manages, like its lead subject, to stumble into bold revelations when it effectively balances both aspects.
The documentary revolves around the vulgar, outspoken Bob Forrest, who, at one time, was at the top of the indie-rock surge in 1980s Los Angeles. It was an industry that was encased in proximity by just a couple of city-blocks in the industrialized part of LA, which housed night-clubs and brick-venues that were just as unclean and as seedy as the music that was being played. Forrest and a group of friends, including Peter Weiss and Dix Denney who are interviewed in the film, started their band Thelonious Monster, which quickly rose to the top of the most famous local acts in southern California.
Known for their casual, crass style, suspect musical talent, and branding of such ignominious terms as "drunk-rock" and "trash-rock," Forrest and company had a successful stint until their independent sensibilities came to an end when they were on the receiving end of a lofty check from RCA. Once they went corporate, the band lost that original spark and suddenly became the paradoxical idea of "too successful" in the indie world, and as a result, Forrest became greedy and manipulative. One of the hallmarks of Thelonious Monster was how unbelievably common it was for band-members to pass out, fight, or curse at one another on-stage, before a life audience. It was a culture of angst compounded by insecurities that were repressed by copious amounts of hard liquor and morphine.
Forrest, however, became seriously entangled in the Californian heroin craze of the period, shooting up with junkies and hanging out in grungy apartments. At one point, Forrest even injected himself with heroin using needles that were cleaned with soap and water after having just been used by a man with HIV. Through claymation, Bob's heroin days are depicted in a deceptively whimsical way; these days were anything but whimsical and nearly cost Bob his life. He continued using cocaine and heroin so excessively that he proceeded to be the self-destructive force of the band that shot down every second chance, potential opportunity, and chance at reputability they got. Such instances do nothing but infuriate the old members of Thelonious Monster when they're brought up, particularly Weiss, who recalls assaulting Forrest in anger on stage more than once.
A man whose circumstance as a child along with a pathway for a stable sense of direction were two elusive things that weren't directly communicated nor given to him, Forrest's wake-up call came years after the band he once led disbanded. He woke up up from a heroin binge in an asphalt parking lot amidst a rainstorm, and knew he wasn't going out like that. After being caught with a stolen car and thrown in jail for several weeks, Forrest became clean of all substances and found employment at a coffeeshop outside of Los Angeles that employs those who just exited rehab or a halfway house. During this time, he reconnected with family and even wrote many "survival songs" for a solo album of the same name.
One of his most tender, sober songs is called "Memphis," a song about a troubled drug user attempting to get home to Memphis, Tennessee, although any seasoned music fan will see Memphis and the song's concept as a metaphor for just about anything someone who has succumbed to addiction seeks. The song actually inspired an incarcerated man to pen him a letter about how he was a heroin junkie, now serving a lengthy sentence in prison, and was just about to wear a noose until he heard Forrest's song on the radio. Though Forrest's face is thicker, more rubbery and worn, you can tell the emotion he feels just by the cracks in his voice and the glaze in his eyes.
Today, Forrest works as a counselor for those who are addicted or trying to free themselves from drug use. His method is decidedly different than the failing pharmaceutical industry that gets those off of street-drugs and hooked on prescription-drugs; it's one that favors gentle compassion and mutual understanding based on circumstances. Forrest makes clear to his subjects and viewers that he isn't one to demean someone if they break a promise of sobriety, nor turn them away because they lack adequate funds for the program or are tough to mentor. Forrest welcomes the challenge because being stubborn and unable to quit was something that accurately defined him for many years.
Forrest explains in another great scene how to talk to a junkie when they confide and seriously question what value there is in being sober. He states, in that moment, if you give them a "BS" response, you could send them on the wrong track, even unwillingly, that you will not be able to get them off no matter how hard you try. Though each circumstance is different, Forrest remarks about how he makes clear to those addicted to drugs that he knows that in those situations, victims often have no friends, no money, are in a constant state of physical illness and experience perpetual, crippling self-loathing that makes them want to die. He concludes by saying if that describes you, yet you still want the very thing that is putting you in that place and resulting in that personal calamity, you are addicted.
Kerida Bahruth and editor Joshua Altman's stylistic approach to Bob and the Monster is a linear one. Occasionally, it subverts conventional documentary-style by opting for aforementioned claymation scenes or scrapbook-like editing that pulls written words into the frame or breaks up the monotony of interviews. The best stuff comes when we see Thelonious Monster performing and how interjected song-lyrics and situations work to define the current moments or themes in the documentary (consider early when Forrest's contemptible qualities are being discussed by band-members before concert footage showing Forrest belting out a lyric to one of his songs: "I'm talking in a language no one else can speak!").
Forrest is a fascinating subject, troubled and frequently unlikable, but not pathetic. His story is one that some may label predictable, especially if they've been desensitized by episodes of Dr. Drew/Dr. Drew-related television shows, but at least, in this case, predictability was the best route for the man. His actions now may not patch the sins that occurred during past torments and tribulations, but at least he has time to work on defining his present situation and leaving a selfless legacy before history would've written him off as another statistic.
Directed by: Keirda Bahruth.