L'obscénité et la fureur - La véritable histoire des Sex Pistols

Forget everything you may have heard or read about the Sex Pistols. Forget "Sid and Nancy". This is THE documentary. A warts and all look inside the lives of a band that changed the face of music forever. Never mind Julien Temple's earlier effort "The Great Rock and Roll Swindle", the sensationalist Malcom McLaren (Manager of the Pistols) centred documentary. "Filth" tells the story using the the band (and a lot of Temple's own 1970's 'never before seen' home video tapes).

In existence for only 26 months and releasing only one album, the Sex Pistols evolved within a time of massive economic, social and cultural oppression in England. This was an era unlike any other. Staggering youth unemployment; squalid streets where the piles of rubbish became small hills and the stench over-powering, and with the IRA bombing campaign reaching its peak. One of the most amazing things about this documentary is that it actually takes us back in time to the mid-70's landscape of London. Through the use of newsreel footage, television adverts of the day, weather reports and game-show clips, "Filth" immerses the viewer in everything absurdly "English" from the time.

The documentary not only lets you "feel" like you're actually there with the band, it tells you so much that you actually believe you were there. Without going into essay length about the story of the Sex Pistols, there are just so many interesting/bizarre facts revealed about the band that you really begin to realise why they are such a huge influence on music today. I may be ignorant, but I now know that Johnny Rotten started spitting on stage only because of his sinus problems, Sid Vicious inadvertently started the "pogo" dance, and the band were the first ever to say the "F" word on British television. David Bowie, Siouxie Sioux and Elvis Costello could often be spotted at a Pistols show, and opening bands on the bill ranged from The Clash, The Damned and The Buzzcocks.

One-to-one interviews with each surviving band member, as well as extensive interview footage with Sid Vicious (Hyde Park-1978), are revealing and extremely honest. The many sides and angles of the Pistols story have been told by those that lived it. Almost all of the interviews have been shot in silhouette, so the only faces you see are those of the members being "The Sex Pistols". The idea being not to spoil the feel or continuity of the film, and from saving us all having to look at a bunch of old blokes talking about "those crazy days".

Julien Temple proves himself to be the only man for the job of Director. There is a lot to be said about someone who abandons there student film career and goes about documenting a band, but Julien Temple did just that. His ability to display the true personalities of each band member is remarkable, and this has translated over to the audience. In a recent interview he states "People have watched the film and been almost in tears at the end, which is the last thing you would expect from a Sex Pistols movie. But it is because there was never anything about the Pistols that you expected, that was part of their power".

No, I didnt cry, but the story of the Pistols is a tragic one ending with the split of the group, Sid Vicious being the prime suspect over the death of his girlfriend Nancy Spungen, and then his drug induced death months later.

Whether you're a fan of the Sex Pistols or not is really irrelevant. Whether you play in a punk band is also irrelevant (although it'll make you think twice about the term "punk"). The point is, if your interested in music, popular culture or human behaviour, this is a movie that will reward you. Both entertaining and informative, "The Filth and The Fury" actually delivers as being "the definitive story of The Sex Pistols".

The real story of punk rock will, apparently, never be told. I suppose that's because most of the surviving participants have too much ego invested; or because, as the years fade, and the original social context disappears, the meaning of Punk - at its inception - becomes harder to decipher and easier to forget.

I was in NYC in '76, when it was first breaking for the national press, and I hung around CBGBs under a number of pseudonyms, trying to write reviews and articles on bands that nobody ever heard of, many of them breaking up before I could dot the last "i" in the last paragraph. And I tried out a couple bands of my own, weird blends of Iggy and the Velvet Underground. But I was really an outsider (coming from upstate); and when the London scene started shipping singles over, I knew that, for whatever reason, my heart was really more into "Anarchy" and "White Riot" than the metal-surf-music of the Ramones or early Blondie. But this disjunction of 'right time wrong place' or whatever, allowed me to see the development of Punk in a way others seem content to ignore.

The fundamental problem that Punk never resolved (and current neo-punks are still struggling with it), is, whether Punk was to be a continuance of the "counter culture" of the '60s in different guise, or just another pop-music for sexually frustrated young people. This sounds like an empty theoretical issue, but it has one all-important concrete aspect to it no one can ignore - money. Did (do) punks make music to make music - or to make money? That question was never answered; or, perhaps, every punk answered (answers) it in his/ her own way. Yet once we begin adding up all the individual answers, most of them sure come out sounding like "money". Yet the memory of Punk survives largely because it seemed to be about anything other than money; so the dilemma continues.

That dilemma surfaces again in this film, especially in the discovery of the wretched rip-off Pistols manager Malcom McLaren pulled, not only on the audience, but on the Pistols themselves. The brief moments from the (thankfully unfinished) "Who Shot Bambi?" make it very clear that McLaren had not the slightest clue as to who the Pistols were, or what they represented. Yet he not only continued to guide their career after their break-up, but is warmly mentioned in Griel Marcus' scholarly history of Punk, "Lipstick Traces", which will probably bear influence on punk histories, long after the last "photo-album" paperback turns to dust. Yet it is clear that from the get-go McLaren's only interest was the profit.

The Pistols were right, and are right, to ignore questions concerning their "materialism" or "selling out", since they were never part of the hippies' 'anti-materialism' ideal to begin with, and because they never denied a desire for some paycheck (which they almost never got from McLaren). But also plain is their desire to make the music of the UK working-class slums from whence they came.

All of this comes to a head in the brief yet unforgettable tragedy of Sid Vicious - for whom music meant freedom, and money meant - heroin. But junky 'rockstars' don't play at commercial venues to make music. He ended up in NYC, which by then had a punk scene swarming with record-co.-exec vermin dealing dope and poseur sycophants trying to score. Eventually all that was left was the heroin, and it killed him.

This film won't resolve any of these issues; but it may help raise them, and place them in a proper light. I can't agree that it is a well-made film - the editing, which is very flashy, is also somewhat vapid, and goes out of control too often. But there's adequate reminder of the era of the Pistols here, and why it was many of us thought, at the time (and still believe) that the Pistols were the most important rock band in history.

The segment from the final performance at Winterland is worth the price of the film: same-old same-old music concerts are "no fun" and Jones and Rotten (knowing they've been betrayed by McLaren into performing for the corporate music world they hated) rub our noses in it until they've had enough and stalk off. If you can see this - and know what it's about - and still pay $200 to see Mick Jagger pull his wrinkled pud at you at the age of 65, you don't need a movie review, you need a psychiatrist.

'The Filth And The Fury' isn't only the best music-related documentary I've ever seen, but one of the best documentaries ever made on ANY subject. Julian Temple succeeds in blending archival footage of the band, various ads, rock videos, news reports, TV comedians, Olivier's 'Richard III', and recent interviews, and by this manages to put the Sex Pistols in a musical, political and CULTURAL context. If that sounds pretentious, the movie is anything but. It is fabulously entertaining but at the same time is a fascinating, insightful HONEST portrait that should appeal to both die hard fans and novices.

So few movies or TV shows treat music seriously, or show that it can be much more than mass-produced trivialized entertainment. 'The Filth And The Fury' does exactly that and is all the more powerful for it. A revelatory piece of film! I hope every rock'n'roll fan turns off MTV and watches this instead. If they did the music world would be a much better place.

Was recommended this by a pistols fan who is also into the Punk scene. Not being a Pistols fan I was unsure but my friends tastes are similar so gave it a try. Very pleased I did. It's a thoroughly enjoyable docu film with some great footage and really encompasses the whole scene. It's amazing how times have moved on really and this is also a look at how society was so stuck up it's own arris here in the UK at that period.

John Lydon has always been much more than just a yob of a front man as every interview I have ever heard with him he has always spoken with true meaning and passion. This has not changed my mind and you cannot help but be moved by his interview, especially on the death of Sid. The best moments for me are the interviews and clips of journalist Nick Kent, an absolute 'kent' if ever there was one. As a big Adam Ant fan it was nice to see some footage of the man behind the song "Press Darlings", and boy did he come up trumps. What a complete.... It also reveals McLaren to be the compete t**t he was too. A great film for everyone with even a passing interest in music and not just punk. It's about a change in ideals and the times. And very well done. 9/10 as it does what it sets out to do very very well.

If nothing else, this is the only Sex Pistols film (there are now at least 3) to make explicit and in-depth reference to the band members' working class roots, and the way that experience informed their project. This alone makes the film worth seeing, as it explodes the myth, fostered no doubt by their PT Barnum manager, Malcolm McLaren, that the whole project was an exercise in cynical nihilism and money grubbing. As the band members tell it, nothing could have been further from the truth. I believe them.

The film is cobbled together in large part from 2 previous Sex Pistols documentaries, "Rock 'n' Roll Swindle," (a McLaren project also directed, ironically enough, by F&F director Julie Temple) and "D.O.A," plus clips from BBS television and elsewhere that try to locate the Pistols in the political and social climate that spawned them. This effort, to give the Pistols a historical context, is by far the most valuable part of the film for those trying to understand how a bunch of working class stiffs, who could barely play their instruments, and who only released one album, could set off an explosion that reverberates in the music world--if increasingly faintly--even today.

Best part of the film: footage from their last, secret gig at a palace in a working class district (they had been banned from appearing anywhere in England) before embarking on their ill-fated US tour. It consists of two performance on Christmas Day, benefiting the families of striking local firefighters, who had been out of work for many months. The attendees consist of the local lads and lasses, none of whom are "punk" in any apparent sense of the term.

Before the Pistols performed, everyone eats Sex Pistols cake and ice cream; "Never Mind the Bollocks" shirts are stretched over the pubescent bodies of every bobby soxer. Then, after a thank you from the emcee, the Pistols launch into the searing "Bodies," its sarcastic refrain sung from the point of view of an aborted fetus ("I'm not an animal!/I'm an abortion..."). All the boppers dance like it's a sock hop, with the difference that everyone gleefully throws leftover desserts at one another. Steve Jones is shown playing guitar with his face covered in cake icing, beaming. In his reminiscence about the gig, Rotten grows wistful, saying it was easily their best memory as a band, and the last good one before it all fell apart.

I never knew the guys were such sentimentalists.

It's hard to believe that there once was a time when rock music could actually matter, when it was possible to actually escape the commodified rebellion that now sells Budweiser, Nike, and SUVs, when it was possible, however briefly to scare the pants of the political establishment. Young pop music lovers who swallow the meretricious rebellion of rap or grunge--whose self-important lyrics and idiotically monotonous rhythms make their authors rich off the weekly allowances of white middle class kids whose idea of rebellion is big loud subwoofers in the Corolla Daddy bought them for their 16th birthday--might profit from getting a glimpse of the Real Thing.

The rest of us, who were lucky enough to have been there when history was made, and who can still recall the opening chords of "Anarchy in the UK" blasting all traces of "More Than a Feeling" and "Take It Easy" out of our speakers cabinets and into the first circle of music Hell where they always belonged, can enjoy the film for what it teaches us about the power of ordinary, thoroughly obnoxious people to make their own history, and ours.

Another thing I learned from the film: if Tom Cruise were a junkie, he would look just like Sid Vicious.