FILM OF THE WEEK: Spinal Tap II: The End Continues - Reviewed by Roe McDermott

Some bands never stop touring, others reunite when the money or the nostalgia feels right, and a few are coaxed back on stage by contractual obligations unearthed decades later.

That last category is where we find Spinal Tap in their belated sequel, a film that arrives forty one years after This Is Spinal Tap set the template for a whole genre of comedy. It is impossible not to greet the return of Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest), David St Hubbins (Michael McKean) and Derek Smalls (Harry Shearer) with a certain fondness, given how much the original has seeped into popular culture and the language of satire. It is also impossible not to notice how gently the new film treads.

The plot is simple enough. Marty DiBergi, played once again by Rob Reiner with a mixture of genuine hapless confusion and Louis Theroux-style polite bemusement, sets out to document the band’s reunion concert. The trio have long since drifted into eccentric side careers – David St Hubbins now writes hold muzak and scores True Crime podcasts; Nigel Tufnel runs a cheese and guitar shop; and Derek Smalls (Shearer) runs a glue museum – the latter two business being far funnier than they have any right to be.

When Hope Faith (Kerry Godliman), daughter of their late manager Ian Faith (originally played by Tony Hendra, who died in 2021), discovers a clause in their contract demanding one more performance, the trio are reunited, with time, distance and some unspoken conflicts making for a bumpy reunion. However, news of their last concert is met with glee, as the band have recently resurged back to relevance via a TikTok-friendly cover (a plot that would feel culturally on-the-nose were the cover not by very-not-Gen-Z-coded Garth Brooks.) So begrudgingly, the group reunite to rehearse; convince someone to become their 13th drummer despite the position being widely acknowledged as a deal with death; find an appropriately impressively-sized Stonehenge prop; and not kill each other before their concert in New Orleans.

The band aren’t the only one we revisit here, as the film – via Marty, of course – reunites us with many characters from the original, including June Chadwick’s Jeanine, who has found divinity in an unexpected place; and PR guru Bobbi Flekman (Fran Drescher). But there are new faces too, like a somewhat underused Goldiman and Chris Addison as a unctuous and music-hating PR pro, who encourages the geriatric band to take inspiration from K-Pop stars.

Yet while the film revisits old characters and reproduces the general structure of its predecessor, it rarely produces the same electricity. What lands most often are not the grand comic set pieces but the small, almost throwaway details. A late throwaway pun about Bruce Springsteen and The Sound of Music is staggeringly stupid and very funny. Derek’s glue museum, complete with hazardously interactive exhibits and punning labels is a perfect pocket world of silliness with the kind of absurd specificity that recalls the wordplay of Michael Schur’s television comedies. These are moments where the film reminds us that the Tap universe has always been funniest in the margins, in the casual one liner or the unnoticed background gag.

The long central section, by contrast, drags, despite the film’s short runtime. Watching ageing rockers bicker over ‘Ah’s’ versus ‘La’s’ and rehearse half-finished numbers may have been intended as a commentary on the creative process, but it rarely generates laughs. While the parade of celebrity cameos provides intermittent amusement - Paul McCartney’s appearance is a sly delight - too many other contributions feel like filler that are treading water until the finale – which is staged with affection and enough pratfalls and malfunctions to remind viewers why the band remains beloved.

Yet the laughter is warmer and less explosive than before. It would be difficult for any sequel to recapture the force of something as formative as This Is Spinal Tap. The original not only skewered a musical subculture but also helped establish the mockumentary as a powerful comedic form. We now live in a world saturated with that style, from sitcoms to sketch shows, so what once felt sharp and original can only feel familiar. Spinal Tap II is not trying to reinvent the genre, and perhaps wisely so, but that also means it leans heavily on affection for the characters rather than on satire of the industry that produced them.

This sequel nods more gently at the indignities of ageing and the persistence of rock mythology in a culture that has largely moved on to different idols. And there is a certain poignancy in watching Guest, McKean and Shearer return to these roles in their seventies. The film gestures at the ridiculousness of rock’s endless afterlife, a world where farewell tours never end and nostalgia is monetised until the very last encore. If the original was about the absurdity of excess and self-importance, the sequel is about the absurdity of persistence – which has an in-built meta criticism ready to go, but Spinal Tap II is amusing enough to bat that away.

Spinal Tap II will not convert new audiences, and it was never really meant to. It is made for those who loved the first film, who can quote its lines and still chuckle at the idea of an amplifier that goes to eleven. It is for viewers who want to see those familiar characters shuffle back into view and be reminded of a very particular kind of comedy. It is not as sharp, not as energetic, and not as revolutionary, but it is far from an embarrassment either. Like the band it depicts, it has survived long enough to become a little ridiculous but to still remain endearing. And that’s enough.

• Directed by Rob Reiner. Written by Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, Rob Reiner.
  Starring Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, Rob Reiner, Kerry Goldiman, Chris Addison, Valerie Franco, Fran Drescher. 83 mins
  In cinemas now.