black metal

Until the Light Takes Us (2008)

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“In the mountains of Norway, where the weather is cold
There’s not much to do except kill each other
And play guitars in the snow
Corpse paint, which is a scary name for make-up, is what they wear
They’d resemble Ink and Dagger, if Ink and Dagger had long hair
They’re pretty evil, and they do not like God
I don’t care if they burn down churches
But they’d better not fucking touch a synagogue”

You won’t find a more succinct nor accurate summation of Norwegian black metal’s entire deal than that opening stanza to the Atom and His Package novelty song “Me and My Black Metal Friends,” which I listened to repeatedly years before I actually heard a proper black metal track.  It touches on everything you need to know about black metal in just a few quick bullet points: the theatricality of the image, the brutality of the sound, the isolation of the region, the allure of the arson & murder and, most pivotally, the stain of antisemitism that sours most of the scene’s mystique.  Maybe that’s why the 2008 documentary Until the Light Takes Us feels so thinly stretched across its 90-minute runtime.  After all, Adam Goren was able to get its point across in less than 90 seconds an entire decade earlier.  It doesn’t help that there have been two much heftier texts that have done much more extensive, contemplative work in autopsying the early black metal scene since: the 2013 “comprehensive guide” Black Metal: Evolution of the Occult, and the 2019 true crime drama Lords of Chaos (also adapted from a lengthy book).  You can refer to the former for a big-picture encyclopedia of the black metal scene, which is mostly disregarded here in favor of dwelling on the grisly details of the murder that broke up the band Mayhem and made Norwegian black metal internationally infamous.  The latter text, Lords of Chaos, also uses the Mayhem murder case as its focal point, but it does so with clear, critical purpose beyond morbid fascination: making fun of all involved.  As a result, Until the Light Takes Us has little to offer to a 2020s audience beyond the novelty of seeing those better fleshed-out texts & images illustrated with real-life detail.  Maybe it felt more significant 15 years ago, when I was still listening to smartass novelty songs, blissfully unaware of the white-nationalist ideology behind some of the scene’s monstrous guitar riffs.

The most salacious selling point for this festival-circuit documentary is that it interviews black metal musician Varg “Burzum” Vikernes in his jail cell about the reasoning behind his church burnings and his fatal stabbing of former Mayhem bandmate Euronymous, for which he was sentenced 21 years.  Forever a publicity hound, Varg is eager to speak on the record, as it gives him an audience for the antisemitic, white nationalist talking points he feels have been misconstrued by the media.  If this particular extension of The Media had a clear agenda of its own, it might not have given him such a wide platform to practice poised, philosophical hate speech without any editorial pushback either.  There is some joy to be found in Varg’s frustration that his church burnings were misinterpreted as Satanic ritual by the press, but that feeling fades as he explains at length that the arson was meant to protest the way Christianity has erased & replaced Norway’s more authentic, ancient culture.  It’s a sentiment that most reasonable people could agree with in broad strokes, which makes it all the more dangerous that it so easily slips into proud white-nationalist rhetoric (as easily as Varg labeling Christianity “a Jewish religion”).  The only fellow player on the early black metal scene given equal screentime is the much more likeable Darkthrone musician Fenriz, who bumbles around modern Norway without any guiding political ethos beyond a love & nostalgia for vintage black metal aesthetics.  Fenriz does a lot to explain what makes black metal such an enduring sound & image, but he does very little to overpower the hateful Nazi ideology Varg is spewing in their alternating interviews.  Thankfully, the movie also includes sarcastic contributions from the older, wiser band members of Immortal, who essentially serve as the black metal Statler and Waldorf – mocking the kids beneath them for taking metal so unnecessarily seriously in the first place.

If there’s any way in which Until the Light Takes Us takes a clear point of view on the black metal scene, it’s in the way it strips the musicians of the Xeroxed-corpse-paint album covers that made them look so cool & mysterious to outsiders in the early 90s.  It peers behind the veil of shock value self-promotion to show how mundane Varg & Fenriz’s lives look to the naked eye & camcorder.  Between their messy apartments, their fluorescent-lit prison cells, and the corporatized, McDonalds-lined streets of Oslo, the movie zaps away all of the dark ritual & romance the scene cultivated through zine culture publicity stunts.  The documentary’s low-fi digi sheen works in its favor in that way.  It also echoes Fenriz’s explanation of how black metal musicians pioneered their signature “necro sound” by seeking out the worst, cheapest equipment they could blow out for a deliberately crunchy, D.I.Y. affect.  Overall, Lords of Chaos does a much better job of taking a clear “point of view” on these gloomy nerds (by dunking on them mercilessly), but Until the Light Takes Us at least this makes their world look even smaller & less mystical.  It’s a little frustrating that its soundtrack is so light on actual black metal music (instead relying on low-fi electro beats to study to for most of its mood setting), but that choice also strips Varg and his compatriots of the sound’s inherent cool.  No matter how many vile “National Socialist Black Metal” bands with offensive-on-purpose names like Aryan Blood & Gestapo 666 have been inspired by Burzum’s Nazi rhetoric, the genre’s soaring guitar riffs still tower over you.  Its blast-beat drumming still pummels the brain in just the right way.  The trick is not letting the most despicable edgelords on the scene control the narrative and ruin the vibe, which is something this doc does without much of a fight.  Fenriz’s metalhead aimlessness is adorable, but it’s not nearly potent enough to wash away the sour taste left by Varg.  Thankfully, other works have since stepped in to take either a wider or a more fiercely critical view on the subject, although confusingly to much quieter fanfare.

-Brandon Ledet

Lords of Chaos (2019)

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“Based on truth, lies, and what actually happened,” Lords of Chaos is a half-fictionalized profile of the infamous Norwegian black metal band Mayhem, joining the ranks of other aggressively subjective, post-modern biopics like GoodFellas; Love & Mercy; Elvis & Nixon; and I, Tonya. Directed by a former black metal musician (Swedish music video auteur Jonas Åkerlund, formerly of Bathory) and based on an eponymous book detailing the real-life events it depicts, Lords of Chaos should carry an air of authenticity to its true-crime recollection of Mayhem’s rise-to-power and spectacular downfall. Instead, it takes great liberties in its selective memory and revisionist history for the sake of making a larger point about the type of shithead metal nerds it’s lampooning, whether or not they resemble the real-life people whose names are attached. In particular, Lords of Chaos is a little too forgiving to Mayhem “mastermind” Euronymous, the POV protagonist played increasingly humanely by Rory Culkin. It’s also guilty of going light on the Nazi rhetoric vocalist Burzum infused into black metal’s core philosophy, a grotesquely fascist self-contradiction in a movement supposedly built by anti-establishment subversives. Personally speaking, though, historical accuracy has never been something that’s prevented me from enjoying a movie as long as it has something true or interesting to say, which is the idea at the heart of the subjective, post-modern biopic. In this case, that truth comes in the form of a darkly funny true-crime satire about how hardline shithead metal nerds are mostly just trust fund kids with loving parents & purposeless suburban angst. It zaps all the supposed Cool out of the church-burnings, murders, and animal cruelty of black metal lore to expose them as the edgelord posturing that they were. And as lightly as it treads on Euronymous’s own faults and the seriousness of the movement’s Nazism that Burzum helped foster, it’s very clear in condemning them for escalating that edgelord behavior by preaching hateful rhetoric for the sake of “fun” & self-promotion.

The genius of making a film about Mayhem in the first place, of course, is that the band’s “break-up” story involves a spectacularly violent murder that made worldwide headlines. On its surface, the film is a tragic true-crime dramedy about a Norwegian teen’s ascent from the suburbs to self-made heavy metal legend. In that regard, Lords of Chaos reads as a toothless, formulaic, immorally misguided canonization of an over-glorified troll – which is how most pro critics have assessed its merits. For me, Mayhem’s story itself is only a convenient, sensational platform the film exploits to stage its true intent: broad, brutally unforgiving satire of gatekeeping edgelord teens in the black metal scene & beyond. There isn’t much difference between the “dark, evil” trolls of this film and the brand-building influencers of Instagram today, especially considering how many of the online contingent’s stories end at horrific meltdowns like Fyre Fest, Japanese suicide forests, racist-slur controversies, and criminal indictments for fraud. They spout hateful, destructive rhetoric for the press it gets them as shock value peddlers to boost record sales, then are horrified to discover that their most dedicated fans actually take their word as unholy gospel. Satanism, Nazism, and advocation for murder are less their personal philosophy than they are an opportunity for angsty teens to piss off their loving, supportive parents. The black metal musicians of Lords of Chaos aren’t selling a new pop music subgenre so much as they’re selling a lifestyle brand. Their quest to define the difference between “true metalheads” & “posers” becomes increasingly, darkly hilarious as they’re all literally posing for pictures & press. The only zealot who takes the philosophy seriously (Burzum) ends up being the trigger for their tragic downfall, so they’re effectively destroyed by their own edgelord posturing & verbal bullshit. Lords of Chaos does for the 1990s black metal edgelord what the Tim Heidecker picture The Comedy did for the 2010s Brooklyn hipster: costuming itself as a fan & a participant only to tear the entire enterprise down from the inside.

It’s impossible to tell whether the affectation is sincere or satirical, but one of the more amusing impulses Lords of Chaos pursues is in disguising itself as the kind of hyperviolent horror media its subjects would watch for entertainment. Their headbanging parties are shot with the fish-eye lenses & low-fi camcorder immediacy of 90s skateboarding videos & MTV footage. The pummeling blastbeats of their performances are illustrated with quick-edit montages that flash jump-scare horror imagery like a strobelit haunted house. In their spare time, the fascist trolls of Lords of Chaos watch gory splatter comedies like Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive, which the film itself matches in the intense practical gore of its own murder scenes. However, unlike in a Dead Alive, the real-life murders are not at all cartoonish or fun to watch. The camera uncomfortably lingers on the brutal displays, recounting each ugly stab & slice in grotesque misery. Similarly, the heavy metal party footage is comically undercut by the godawful sex, cheery suburban homelives, and image-conscious corpse paint posing that define these cruel nerds’ day-to-day, pathetic personae. Even the supposed badassery of their penchant for burning churches is soured by the churches in question being centuries-old structures of fine art majesty, not just provincial boxes with a steeple attached. Aesthetically speaking, Lords of Chaos matches the philosophical con-artistry of its subjects; it’s dressed up like “terror incarnate,” but just below that surface is something miserably, pathetically uncool. Whether that was the film’s intent is irrelevant at this point, but my personal reading of it as a satire leans to that bait & switch as being purposeful & weaponized.

As much as I appreciated Lords of Chaos as a post-truth biopic & an edgelord satire, I’m not at all shocked to see that most pro reviews of the film have been tepid at best. Spending two hours with these miserable, hateful shitheads is a thoroughly unpleasant experience, even though they are consistently the butt of a righteous joke. Whether or not Åkerlund could’ve been tougher on specific characters who were even worse shitheads in real life, I greatly enjoyed watching him give all gatekeeping black metal edgelords everywhere a collective noogie. It’s the exact fate these lowly nerds deserve.

-Brandon Ledet

Deathgasm (2015)

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EPSON MFP image

fourstar

At the height of heavy metal’s popularity in the 1980s there was a ridiculous mini-trend of horror movie releases that capitalized on parents’ fears & teens’ transgressive love of the genre. Films like Trick or Treat (the one with Ozzy, not the 2007 anthology) & Shock ‘Em Dead answered paranoid questions like, “What if rock & roll groups are hiding Satanic messages in their records in order to subliminally corrupt our children & turn them into murderers?” with a resounding “Hell yes! That would be bitchin’.” The only problem with these films is that they had the distinct POV of an outsider looking in. They’re fun films, but they’re lacking a self-awareness about the world of metal, playing more off assumptions about the subculture than its actual, true-life nature.

2015’s New Zealand horror comedy Deathgasm, on the other hand, openly displays the insider knowledge of a true metal nerd’s overactive imagination. Not only does it continue the Kiwi traditions of films like Peter Jackson’s classic splatter fest Dead Alive, but it uses that gore-soaked past to deepen & improve 80s heavy metal themed horror schlock like Shock ‘Em Dead. This is the kind of film where D&D jokes fit snugly among casual discussions about metal’s endless list of subgenres– sludge, grind, death, black, etc. Deathgasm holds an obvious reverence for metal as both an artform & a lifestyle, but it’s also more than willing to poke fun at the subculture’s peculiarities, like the incongruity of ultra macho types wearing corpse paint (make-up) & metal nerds’ tendency to pine after potential love interests  from afar rather than, you know, actually talking to them. It also has a metal head’s sense of gore-soaked humor, going way over the top in its cartoonish violence & brutality.

At the beginning of the film, metal mostly serves as a form of escapism for miserable teens with social anxiety. At school & in public the central crew of nerd protagonists are constantly bullied into feeling like shit, but metal transports them to a mythical world (imagine the abstract mountaintop album art from the genre’s typical record covers) where they’re powerful & adored. Metal’s transcendent source of power becomes more literal as the nerds pull together to form a band called DEATHGASM (“all capital letters because lower case is for pussies”), playing a formed of blackened thrash with song titles like “Intestinal Bungee Jump.” Through their idolization of a defunct band wickedly named Haxan Sword they discover an ancient scroll of sheet music for a doom metal song that magically summons The King of Demons (a supernatural force bent on world domination) when played on a guitar. Instead of accepting the resulting gore-drenched apocalypse that ensues, DEATHGASM fights back, destroying The King of Demon’s loyal army of . . . demons with everything at their disposal: axes, chainsaws, drills, car engines and, of course, sex toys.

On the surface, Deathgasm has a lot more in common with the chaotic 1980s horror franchise Demons than it does with zombie fare like Dead Alive. It’s just that the films’ eye-gouging, throat-slitting, head-removing, blood-puking mayhem is played almost entirely for grossout humor instead of the discomforting terror inherent to films like Demons. This is especially apparent in the gore’s juxtaposition with rickroll gags & the goofy image of kids in corpse paint enjoying an ice cream cone. The horror comedy of Deathgasm is far from unique, though. What truly makes the film stand out is its intimate understanding of metal as a subculture. It’s easily the most knowledgeable movie in that respect that I’ve seen since the under-appreciated Tenacious D road trip comedy Pick of Destiny. I mean that as the highest of compliments. The difference there is that Pick of Destiny (besides being relatively violence free) got a lot of the attitude right, but didn’t have bands with names like Skull Fist, Axeslasher, and Beastwars on the soundtrack. Deathgasm not only looks & acts the part; it also sounds it, which is a rare treat. \m/

-Brandon Ledet