Worth: $14.50
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Cast:
Dunstan Bruce, Alice Nutter, Danbert Nobacon, Harry Hamer, Penny Rimbaud, Ken Loach
Intro:
… where punk and politics collide.
Instead of throwing TV sets out of hotel windows, what do faded anarcho-punks do when they hit their late 50s?
They destroy home printers.
At least that’s what the dapper Dunstan Bruce does. Bruce, the self-described “washed up, rinsed out, retired radical” – and former Chumbawamba singer and filmmaker – is the centre of this documentary, which tries to explore the place where punk and politics collide.
“I see you Dunstan Bruce, wallowing in nostalgia,” says the surreal character that wears a bizarre baby mask and often accompanies Bruce in the film. And Bruce is indeed sinking into the quicksand of the past, wondering where it all went wrong, wondering why radical punks didn’t change the world … and wondering what to do next.
The baby image was born on Chumbawamba’s album artwork, and is now functioning as Bruce’s inner critic, giving this doco an absurdist twist. But Bruce, who co-directed and co-wrote with documentary-maker Sophie Robinson, treads a fine line between giving something of himself into the film and straight out self-indulgence.
He does look outward though, gathering interviews from former bandmates and assorted others, including Penny Rimbaud of anarcho-punk brethren Crass, and legendary leftist filmmaker Ken Loach.
The documentary’s title comes from the lyrics of Chumbawamba’s most famous tune, 1997’s Tubthumping. If you don’t know that particular anthem, you’ll reach maximum exposure by the end of this film (and possibly come away with an ear worm). Chumbawamba’s music features enjoyably in this doco. But they were never critical darlings and, based on this film, their radical politics turns out to be more interesting than their music.
Bruce and his bandmates once shared a ramshackle squat in 1980s Leeds, and Bruce revisits the house in the doco. But where are the rest of Chumbawamba today? We see former bandmate Alice Nutter ironing a dress, and the once hardcore punk drummer Harry Hamer playing in decidedly un-punk musical theatre, wearing a bow tie, hints of glitter on his face.
But Bruce and I Get Knocked Down are not totally mired in the past. Still political and still angry, he endeavours to get a new band together, and its creation is part of the story and the path out of the quicksand of nostalgia.
Bruce has so much going on in his head that at one point there are four versions of him on the screen having a discussion – a set of quadruplets having a meeting. Not to mention the strange man in the baby mask. Yet another iteration of Bruce.
I Get Knocked Down is coherent and well made. But it lacks in certain areas, and it tries to cover too much – everything from today’s political right to Bruce’s poor relationship with his father. It fails to really get its teeth into anything other than what’s going on inside Dunstan Bruce’s head.
