Viewers may remember hard-rock guitarist Chris Holmes, of W.A.S.P., from his scene in the 1988 rockumentary The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years, in which, floating in a swimming pool next to his mother, he slurringly describes his self-loathing and devotion to alcoholism. So, what happened next? This gossipy update, among other things, posits that Holmes was mainly play-acting for the scandal-seeking camera of director Penelope Spheeris, and his bottle of "vodka" held only water. No way would Chris Holmes empty perfectly good vodka into a pool, says a cohort.
The big, grizzled, bearish Holmes is now living in Europe and managed by his third wife (a previous Chris Holmes spouse was none other than heavy-metal icon Lita Ford). Here Chris is shown embarking on a tour with his new band (Mean Man), to the delight of European fans, where W.A.S.P. tended to occupy a larger culty niche than they did in the USA. Still, everyone seems to agree that in their heyday the LA-based quartet put on amazing theatrical shows, full of pyrotechnics and stage business of questionable taste (a mostly nude woman being whipped), highlighted by Holmes' power chords, giving attendees more than their money's worth in sheer, brasher-than-life metal spectacle.
Holmes, despite hailing from a churchgoing Mormon family, is described as the real deal, a full-time rock-and-roll headbanger but approachable and down-to-earth, the American equivalent of Lemmy Kilmister (although Holmes curtailed drinking, which he said surely would have led to his premature death).
Holmes contrasts himself with W.A.S.P. frontman Blackie Lawless, aka Steve Duren, described as only donning the hard-rocker persona for events. Out of the spotlight, he was controlling, aloof from the fandom, and obsessively jealous of Holmes (FYI the vocalist is not interviewed here). Though Lawless and Holmes reconciled sufficiently for a 1990s reunion, the combination of band dysfunction and a show that went way over the top with blasphemous imagery and misogyny led to the ensemble's permanent dissolution. By that time, it is stated, invested audiences had largely migrated to grunge and Nirvana anyway.
Holmes says he reaped no wealth from being with W.A.S.P., but still persevered on his own terms, and he remains a favorite with listeners, peers (well, maybe not Blackie Lawless), and promoters. Whether one enjoys the vintage metal music or not, the feature is a nostalgic, engaging tribute to a largely unheralded musical survivor of wild ups and downs, who exults before a crowd that he's just turned 61 when nobody believed he would ever reach 30.
Extras include deleted scenes with a plethora of tour dishes —the tale of Blackie Lawless' brainstorm for a live pig-slaughter act could well have come out of This is Spinal Tap—and, yes, more of Chris' colorful mom. Collections should be aware of R-rated language and lewd gestures. (Aud: C, P)