So when I discovered Metallica, I found a whole new possibility in music: heavy rhythms, fast tempos, beautiful, expository guitar solos that sang like the human voice, and an aggressive tone matched by the lead singer’s rough, screamy vocals. What I responded to most, however, was an examination of subjects heretofore unimaginable to me in music: insanity, the all-consuming nature of drug abuse, the disposable role of soldiers in war. Unlike some other heavy metal bands I would be exposed to later but did not particularly enjoy, Metallica didn’t sing about death, satanism and twisted things for shock value; they traversed a dark internal landscape while simultaneously decrying the hypocrisy of the status quo they saw on the outside. When their next album …And Justice for All arrived, I listened to it so much I wore out the tape.

Although I grew out of heavy metal by the time I reached college and progressed onto hip-hop, jazz, electronica, and world music, I have always had an appreciation for Metallica’s contribution to music. A few days ago, primarily out of curiosity, I picked up Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, the 2003 documentary about the band. While I had heard positive things about the film around the time it came out, I really wasn’t expecting much. After all, how interesting could Metallica really be? Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Far from being a tour documentary, the film delves into the heart, soul and psyche of the band, taking a closer look at their dysfunction. What stands out is not their drama, but their attitude toward growth, healing, change, and their commitment to the creative process despite its volatility or the obstacles they face.

At the start of the film, Metallica is at a crisis point: they haven’t released an album or toured in five years; their lawsuit against Napster has backfired, resulting in a major fan backlash; bassist Jason Newsted quit the band, citing “private and personal reasons and the physical damage I’ve done to myself over the years playing the music I love”; and the remaining band members’ relationships with one another are literally in the toilet. At the verge of imploding, the bad takes the radical step of hiring a therapist to help them work through their issues. At $40,000 a month, this guy, Phil Towle, is not your ordinary shrink. He specializes in working with big ego and big money people–athletes, coaches and rock stars. Upon his suggestion, the band takes a different approach to creating music for their new album: they start jamming together to find and write songs, and open up the floor for lyrical contribution to everyone. This is quite different from the past, where members were dictated what and when to play by lead singer James Hetfield and drummer Lars Ulrich, the band’s two reigning (and dueling) egos.

As the film progresses, we see the ups and downs of the new creative and therapeutic approach and get to know each of the characters. James Hetfield appears, at first, largely egocentric, controlling, rebellious, and displays fits of bravado and machismo: he drives hot rods and motorbikes, and bails on his family for a few weeks (just as his son turns a year old) to go to Russia to hunt bears. Cranky, prone to throwing fits and slamming doors, he sometimes acts like a big baby. Lars Ulrich, in contrast, is an artist: he’s passionate, articulate, intelligent, in touch with his feelings and emotions and able to express them, and discourses about the process of making art and music by gesturing at a Basquiat hanging in his living room. Kirk Hammett, despite being an insanely talented guitarist, is perhaps the sweetest one of the three: he’s soft-spoken, humble, spiritual, conciliatory and has replaced the “bad things” in his life (drugs and drinking) with surfing.

Together, the three of them, along with their longtime producer Bob Rock (who has been asked to play bass guitar) and their therapist Phil Towle work on their latest album while simultaneously working on their relationships with one another. They try to be more sensitive, learn to choose their words carefully, take criticism (as opposed to the past where no one was allowed to comment on another’s musical contributions), and listen to one another. Things seem to go well and the band, with the exception of James Hetfield, enjoys the new, more democratic process of creativity. James has difficulty adjusting and becomes more cranky, finally storming out of the room in a fit of anger. We find out that he has a substance abuse problem and has checked into a drug rehabilitation program. Since they cannot record without him, the band is left in limbo as the days turn into weeks and then months. Worried that they may effectively be finished, the Lars and Kirk ponder their future.

After a year, James returns and the film takes its most interesting turn. Part of his recovery process requires that James work only four hours a day and spend the rest of his time with his family. This causes some friction with the band because, after a year’s absence, James is still very controlling and does not want them to continue working after he leaves or even listen to anything they’ve already recorded. Interestingly, James, more than Metallica, is forced to renegotiate just about every part of his life, come to terms with his own controlling nature, and recognize how much of it is driven by fears that are rooted in childhood and teenage experiences. Amazingly, for a guy who at the beginning of the film is virtually a heavy metal stereotype, he adapts and changes. The rage and anger is replaced by a much calmer personality that’s now prone to eating grapes rather than guzzling beer. The band too adapts, and the fact that they allow him to change and thus change themselves, is a testament to their openness and maturity. Each individual is affected by the therapy process, and while it’s not all grapes and roses since differences and frictions continue to arise, Metallia is much better equipped to deal with them in a collaborative, considerate manner that helps bring them together as a band once again. In the end, they triumph over the obstacles they faced at the outset, find a new bassist to replace Jason Newsted (Robert Trujillo formerly of Suicidal Tendencies), release a new album entitled St. Anger, and are inducted as music Icons by MTV. We, as viewers and (lapsed) fans, are left with the feeling that they still have a very promising career ahead of them and many more albums to record.

Although as a spectator I was pleasantly surprised and really enjoyed the film, as a filmmaker and storyteller I was disappointed, at times, by what was left out. For a film shot over a two year period with over 1000 hours of footage, more insight could have been given into the backgrounds of Lars Ulrich and Kirk Hammett. For instance, during one part of the film, we see an interaction between Lars and his father, and see how much Lars values his father’s opinion about Metallica’s music. But we don’t understand why. Is it simply a son seeking his father’s approval? Or is there something more? Doing some research afterwards, I found out that Lars’ father, Torben Ulrich, was a musician who played jazz with such acclaimed figures as Dexter Gordon (who happens to be Lars’ godfather), Stan Getz and Miles Davis. Torben was also an established tennis pro and Lars a tennis prodigy who came to the United States as a teenager to pursue further training before turning to music. These are interesting facts that add color and depth to both Lars and his father, especially since the latter discourses at one point about Metallica’s musical lineage and influences, and gives Lars a harsh critique of a new song. If I uncovered these facts in two minutes on Wikipedia, surely they must have come up in the two years that the filmmakers spent with Metallica. Perhaps they were excluded in favor of plot and story points, but the result, I feel, missed an opportunity to provide greater depth into some very compelling characters.