Howl Of The Underdogs

The first thing one notices about this documentary on Norwegian metal band Madder Mortem is how quiet it is, like the calm at the heart of a storm. It opens in a quiet place, out in the wilds among the pines, at the edge of a frozen lake. A place far from the modern world, in a landscape more often associated with folk tales. These, we are told, are an important part of what it means, culturally, to be Norwegian – and if there’s one key characteristic of the heroes of such tales, it’s that they are outsiders.

Agnete Kierkevaag, Madder Mortem’s singer, has felt like an outsider for a long time. She remembers a happy childhood, illustrated here with photographs and home movies, but the transition to adulthood was rough. The combination of being smart and fat rarely goes down well at school. By the age of 13 she had developed anorexia, which subsequently gave way to bulimia – less noticeable but just as damaging. By the time the shooting of this film began, she was considering weight loss surgery, not simply to lower her risk of health problems like diabetes and heart disease, but to protect her mental health.

Mental illness is a key theme flowing through this film. It has affected several members of the band in different ways, sometimes independently of their work, sometimes as a consequence of – or exacerbated by – the pressures of public visibility and life on the road. The band is known for being open about these issues in its songs, which is central to its appeal as far as many fans are concerned, and here they are discussed in plain terms, while there is also discussion of how to make the band a workspace which prioritises individual needs above collective opportunity. This presents a striking contrast with the myriad music documentaries out there which depict people going all out for fame and breaking themselves in the process. There’s no direct criticism of that, but it will leave viewers more alert to the exploitation within the industry and to the way it is often romanticised in popular culture.

Referencing Aksel Sandemose’s Law of Jante, the film reflects on the band’s success and how it has risked making the exclusion its members face worse. Agnete talks about the attitude of the music press and how she worries that the band has suffered because she doesn’t look good in a corset, whilst a series of headlines illustrates the objectification of women in metal and a distinct lack of interest in what they have to contribute as musicians. We get a glimpse of some of the abusive messages she gets online, and it’s not hard to see how, even with her striking bone structure and expressive eyes, she has come to see herself as somehow physically unacceptable. It’s impossible to watch this without feeling angry.

There is, however, another side to it all. In the eyes of many of residents of Nord-Odal, the band’s success is something for everyone to celebrate, and they embrace it with an enthusiasm rarely shown to metal acts. Even their local mayor describes the band as having put them on the map – they are ambassadors for the region, and good ones. The older local musicians and youth club workers who helped them get their start beam with pride, whilst their bickering also provides a bit of comic relief. Discussion of how the band formed makes a strong case for providing young people everywhere with more resources for developing their creative talents.

This very personal film doesn’t spend as much time as some fans may want dealing directly with the music, though it does contain some concert footage and touches on the writing process. Allowing that people can listen to the music elsewhere, it focuses on providing context for some of its underlying themes. Its climax, however, is the coming together of ten sometime band members for a 20th anniversary reunion show in Oslo. Whilst most of them still have day jobs – we see glimpses of them at work – their enduring success as musicians, against considerable odds, speaks for itself. Sometimes fairy tales come true.