In my other life as a music writer, I listen to a lot of heavy metal music, and one of the things that I always tell people about the contemporary metal scene that seems to surprise them is that it's one of the most diverse types of music, both in terms of the material and the people who make it, imaginable. So ingrained in the American psyche is the image of metal as strictly the provenance of jacked-up white dudes from the hinterlands that it shocks people when you tell them that there are more women in metal than ever before, or that there's hardly a corner of the globe, from Southeast Asia to South America, without a thriving extreme metal scene. Even in the volatile Middle East, metal has found a home, but to hear Heavy Metal in Baghdad directors Eddy Moretti and Suroosh Alvi tell it, there's only one metal band in all of Iraq -- and they can't wait to get out.
The compelling documentary follows the exploits of Acrassicauda, a Baghdad thrash outfit, from their earliest gigs before the U.S. invasion of Iraq (where they were obligated to sing a ridiculous anthem to Saddam Hussein in order to get permission to play gigs) to their life after the war, when their practice space was hit by a missile that destroyed all their instruments and they are faced with the unwelcoming choice of either leaving behind their families and home in order to have a shot at living and working free of the specter of death, or staying in their native country and sacrificing their careers as musicians -- and possibly their lives. Some of the movie's most tragic -- and hilarious -- moments come when we see how difficult it is for Acrassicauda to accomplish things that metal bands elsewhere in the world take absolutely for granted. They're afraid to grow their hair long lest they become targets for anti-Western extremists; in the newly oppressive religious atmosphere of post-Saddam Iraq, women don't dare come to their shows; a brief sojourn in Syria finds them finally able to record a short EP, but the men who run the studio have never recorded any kind of rock music before and don't know how to mic them; and partying and drinking are special treats to be kept hidden behind closed doors, not everyday activities.
Moretti and Alvi are editors for Vice magazine, which bankrolled the film, and they let the hipster sensibilities of their employers seep into the film a bit too often, making themselves the focus of the story instead of staying trained on the intriguing characters in Acrassicauda (including articulate, cynical bassist Firad, fiery, volatile rhythm guitarist Faisal and shy but gifted lead guitarist Tony). But when they manage to rein themselves in and follow the travails of the charsimatic, talented but frustrated band, the movie is eminently watchable, and not only efficiently conveys the nightmare of daily life in occupied Iraq, but even manages to make a compelling political point. Since the invasion, millions of Iraqi natives have fled the violence and chaos; Acrassicauda themselves were exiled to Syria for a year before finally ending up in Turkey, where they struggle to survive the foreign culture and high cost of living. But while neighboring nations have absorbed hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing the war-torn region, the United States -- whose invasion is responsible for every refugee -- has taken in only a few hundred Iraqis. Heavy Metal in Baghdad would work well enough if it was nothing more than a documentary about a struggling thrash band; Acrassicauda are just that interesting. But with the backdrop of strife and turmoil that faces every Iraqi every day, it's downright fascinating.
