Fuck Keith Richards- It's Lemmy

I finally caught Lemmy, the documentary about Sir Kilminster, Motorhead MC.  Granted, I saw a bowdlerized version on VH1, complete with more beeps than an episode of The Daily Show, but the gist was clear. This was less documentary and more hagiography, as Sir Lemmy is lionized as the patron saint of all things rock 'n' roll. One famous rocker after the next does his/her talking head bit with no superlative unuttered. Dave Grohl probably finds the bestest bestest when our hero is deemed "the baddest motherfucker of all time." And for good measure, Mr. Grohl states emphatically, "Fuck Keith Richards. Lemmy is rock 'n' roll." Those two lines are the guiding principles of the film, as folks come to pay homage, not to tease or chastise. Interestingly, in his autobiography, Lemmy rips just about everyone he's ever come in contact with, but those folks get no air here.  If you want a deep exploration of the man's psyche, you'll be sorely disappointed.  This is a celebration, not an examination, and so with that on the table, you can enjoy what's there.

Which is pretty fun, for what it is. This ain't no A-Z narrative with baby pics through tortured adolescence and then manhood.  This is not the rise and fall and rise again of Behind the Music.  This is Lemmy's perpetual now, which amounts to a few simple pleasures. Touring, playing video games, sitting at The Rainbow nursing Jack and cokes, chaining Marlboro Reds and playing trivia games. It's probably worth the price of admission just to see his pad, which looks like Melrose Place gone to seed and sits conveniently a block from the Rainbow, his first stated reason for getting the place. His second? Rent-control- he drops just $900 a month on it, and even that looks like no steal. The tiny place is stuffed with pop memorabilia and Nazi crap, including a number of Lemmy dolls of varying design and materials. You get to watch Lemmy make fries and cover his considerable jowls with scent. I call that must-see television.

You also get moments of Lemmy's "wisdom," such as it is. He shocks his son by pronouncing him the greatest thing in his apartment, which catches the poor lad completely unprepared and nearly lands him in a puddle of his own tears. Lemmy seems not to notice the irony when a moment later he matter-of-factly mentions the time the two of them, father and son, shared the same woman, and then quips, "But you know, some broads are into that. Same as a guy doing the mother and daughter." The son's confused look is either priceless or heartbreaking, depending on your own proclivities. The confirmed bachelor says that any true rocker must choose the road or his beloved, because the two are mutually exclusive. He poignantly denies encouraging his lifestyle on anybody else because too many of his friends didn't make it.  He's been lucky, but he's too old to find god now.

You get a few old clips, but mostly it's Lemmy in his apartment or at the Rainbow, or it's Metallica or Joan Jett or Ozzy singing his praises. He's clearly earned his respect on the circuit, and if most of these talking head rockers have a god, it's Lemmy. I can't say this is well-crafted or provides a compelling narrative or offers much insight into one of rock's iconic figures, but if you dig Motorhead, you kind of have to watch it.