First things first. No, this decent documentary on Iron Maiden, indomitable survivors from the “new wave of British heavy metal”, is not a real-life This Is Spinal Tap.
There are, of course, superficial similarities. Both concern hard-rock bands from London’s East End. (That seems to be where we place Tap’s Squatney.) Both involve a lot of hair. Both take in a few tragedies. But the real-life group, formed more than 50 years ago, are too self-aware to drop too many foolish gaffes. They acknowledge the occasional silliness of their trade without making excuses.
Indeed, if Burning Ambition has a flaw, it is maybe a little short on humour. There is a charming sequence in which they remember being called on stage at a wedding in Poland during the communist years. Crackly VHS shows them entertaining a baffled crowd with a version of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water.
For the most part, however, this is a sober examination of careers characterised by graft, professionalism and dedication to the fans. Might the ghost of Spinal Tap have dampened any inclinations towards frivolity?
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As all tales of England in the mid-1970s must, the picture begins with rubbish piling up in Leicester Square during the winter of discontent. The band really got into their stride during the aftermath of punk, but, as they tell it here, they resisted all managerial entreaties to have their hair cut or spiked. True enough. Maiden have moved forward in variations on classic rock chic ever since: tight pants, greasy leather, enormous manes.
[ Iron Maiden in Dublin: All killer(s) no filler in a near perfect setOpens in new window ]
The film does, however, neglect to mention that their riffs, faster and less chunky than those of Deep Purple or Black Sabbath, did seem to borrow punk’s amphetamine energy.
After the eponymous debut album from 1980, Paul Di’Anno, the band’s first singer, was replaced by the amiable Bruce Dickinson. Personnel changes from then on were rare, though Dickinson stepped away for a spell in the 1990s, and the music remained a stubborn stranger to evolution. This is ultimately an inspirational yarn focused on the value of standing by convictions.
We regret to inform you that there are animated sequences – a curse in most music docs – but, as they concern the band’s already cartoonish mascot, Eddie, few will feel the inclination to object. Rather better are the contributions from superfans such as a lovably overexcited Javier Bardem. I hope poor Penélope Cruz keeps earplugs about the house.
