“You can’t really dust for vomit.”

With Spinal Tap II (2025) officially on the way, I thought it was high time to give the original another spin. Good news—it’s still awesome, one of the finest of all vaguely canonized cult movies. As is usually the case with the best and most enduring comedy films, what can initially be mistaken for low brow humor is actually quite sophisticated and concocted by smart and exceedingly talented individuals.

Offering a potted history of Western musical trends from the mid-1960s through the early ‘80s—skiffle, psychedelic pop, British Invasion, blues rock, shock rock, progressive rock, jazz fusion, heavy metal, glam—This Is Spinal Tap looks back at the rise and fall of the fictional band fronted by three gifted comedian-musicians (Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer) who’ve since made careers out of feature length parody films like this one. This trio, along with director-producer Rob Reiner (who plays a documentary filmmaker-within-the-film), went out on the road and did the bit in earnest, emulating and satirizing the behavior of the world’s biggest musical acts to such an exacting degree that their characterizations ring true with the myths and façades and fragile egos of rock legends and lend the band a dynamic a sense of abiding pathos—an incredible feat when you consider the haziness of the initial plan. Reportedly, several household name musicians found it quite depressing to watch as Spinal Tap’s exhausted fall from grace accorded with their own experience of post-prime touring.

Inspired by hagiographic rock docs like Dont Look Back (1967), Gimme Shelter (1970), and The Last Waltz (1978), Spinal Tap put on a variety of live performances (almost all of them so precise in their stylistic mimicry and earnest in their affection for the material that they’re essentially beyond parody and just plain old good rock ‘n’ roll showmanship adorned with aggressively silly lyrics), staged a few hilarious gags, and improvised a bunch of backstage shenanigans which were subsequently edited (Robert Leighton, Kent Beyda, Kim Secrist) into a brisk blast of sumptuous music and clever comedy.

Much of the offhand humor appears as organic as the filmmakers claim it to be; few punchlines are setup, instead, most of the jokes arise from the faux inter-band dramas and come across as witty observations and in-character eccentricities—Nigel’s (Guest) infamous boast about his amp going to 11 (“one louder” than the standard 10 setting) for example, or their tone-deaf reactions to criticisms of their hyper-sexualized lyrics and album covers (“They are treading water in a sea of retarded sexuality and bad poetry.” “That’s… that’s nitpicking, isn’t it?”). These aren’t “jokes” in the sense that they’re inherently funny; they make us laugh because the team of comedians anchoring the picture are incredibly gifted with wit, timing, and tone. Much like musicians writing a great rock song, they’re able to toss little thought-riffs out there, and then, as each member of the group senses the promise and begins to add their own accents and ideas, give them life and shape of their own.

Another example: early on it’s established that Spinal Tap’s never had a consistent percussionist. Their drummers all seem to die under mysterious circumstances: the first one died in a bizarre gardening accident that the authorities suggested was “best left unsolved,” the second one choked on vomit, and the third one exploded on stage. Each is more ridiculous than the last, but each time the surviving band members get all twisted in knots arguing over the silliest details—they couldn’t confirm exactly whose vomit it was that the second drummer choked on; was the residual remains of the third drummer a stain on his drum seat or a globule?

Layer in some superb supporting performances from Tony Hendra, June Chadwick, Ed Begley Jr., Fran Drescher, Billy Crystal, Anjelica Huston, Paul Shaffer, and Fred Willard (several of whom went on to join Guest’s stock company when he began his career as a mockumentary filmmaker), and you’ve got 82 minutes of pure musical comedy bliss with an undercurrent of warmhearted ribbing.

Here’s to hoping the new film will be accompanied by a nationwide tour alongside The Folksmen!