Gigantic (A Tale of Two Johns)
Genre: Documentary
Cast: John Flansburgh, John Linnell …
Director: A.J. Schnack
Release: (2002)
If you were to stop any number of people on the street and ask them what they think about the enigmatic rock phenomenon They Might Be Giants, you’re likely to get one of three answers: (1) Never heard of them, (2) Heard of them but never heard their music/not sure what they sing, or (3) Know ‘em, love ‘em, can’t get enough of ‘em. No matter which category you fall into, Gigantic (A Tale of two Johns) will almost surely still change the way you think about TMBG*. If you currently fall into one of the first two categories, you’re likely to find yourself squarely in the third before the film is even halfway over. And if you’re already a fan, you’re likely to gain an even greater appreciation for exactly what kind of impact these two unassuming guys named John have actually had on the entertainment world around you.
Gigantic tells the story of John Flansburgh and John Linnell, the surprisingly unrecognizable geek-rock gods who, for twenty-five years, have been steadily carving out their own unique sound and leaving the landscape of the American music and entertainment industries continually bent in their wake – from spearheading the overthrow of the hair band supremacy at MTV, to pioneering the straight-to-download music sharing movement, and even to playing their way nightly into the homes of unsuspecting millions in the signature theme music for The Daily Show. From the very abrupt opening scene, that will likely be mistaken by some as a PSA between the previews and the film, everything about Gigantic is pure TMBG – unexpected, interesting, non-threateningly confusing and perpetually enjoyable for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on.
Their story is told piecemeal, often through their own words and footage, but also through the anecdotes of a number of their collected admirers. The admirers are often as varied and as eclectic as the Johns’ choice of instruments on any given song. Some are former roadies, managers and friends who continue to marvel at the Johns’ ability to shape their own world every step of the way. Some are just plucked from a random assortment of celebrity fans who may have never even met them in person but offer personal tributes by reciting their favorite lyrics with (for some reason) the type of solemn affectation usually found in the strained performance of a third-rate English Lit professor, determined to communicate the emotional depths of Shakespeare to a class of freshman marketing majors at an SEC football school the week before homecoming. Others are intolerably self-absorbed and grating and embody a plausible justification for strangulation and are named Syd Straw. Each contributor is arranged in a way that keeps the narrative progressing forward through time and eventually begins to hint at a blueprint for how to live a life that is uniquely your own in a world of paralyzing pressure to conform.
This really seems to be the essence of what everyone contributing to this movie admires most about Flansburgh and Linnell. The music is great, but the unencumbered originality of it all is the thing. When you listen to any of the Johns’ lyrics for long enough, you begin to get the impression that this is the kind of creativity that every five year old innately possesses and almost every nine year old has already lost. These are the types of songs that little kids banging away at xylophones would sing, making up as they go along, if somehow they possessed the vocabulary of a 35-year old crossword puzzle enthusiast. But because so many of us have long forgotten the language of pure, unrestrained, undirected creativity, we are left thinking that the songs of TMBG must be so brilliantly meaningful that we can’t even fathom it all. They must mean something right? How else could anyone have come up with them? Where would they even begin?
The Johns seem to know that no matter how plainly they try to explain it, some people have just lived too long in the grown up world to believe that a song about a grocery bag might just be a song about a grocery bag. So, with a wink and a smile and a shrug of the shoulders, they just let everyone go on looking for the message. Whether you come away thinking that they are philosophical or just farcical, it is almost impossible to come away not liking them. I dare you to try to hold back a smile and not feel the music tingle up your spine as you watch the Johns bouncing through Birdhouse in Your Soul with the Doc Severinsen orchestra, or to not love the fact that Dial-a-Song still exists. Even if you weren’t a fan before, you’re guaranteed to want to hear more by the end. And when you’re on your computer downloading the whole They Might Be Giants catalog ten seconds after the credits start to roll, instead of trudging off to find an open record store in the rain, don’t forget which two gigantic kids you have to thank for that.
Grading
Story: N/A
Acting: N/A
Visuals: N/A
Originality/Innovation: C (just for director’s style, not the material covered)
Enjoyability: A
Overall: A
* - This is how us in-the-know, hip dude types refer to the band that you squares and your corporate masters know as They Might Be Giants. If you even know them all, man.
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