-By David Noh
For movie details, please click here.
Diane and Joe Liebling of Germantown, Maryland, surely deserve some
kind of medal for parental tolerance. Residing in their basement
for decades is their son, Bobby Liebling, the burnt-out,
drug-addicted rocker whose seminal 1970s band, Pentagram, never
lived up to its initial, considerable promise, largely due to his
self-destructive ways.
Co-directors Don Argott and Demian Fenton have literally dug up
this fascinating, if rather stomach-turning, subject for their
awestruck documentary
Last Days Here, likening him to a
caveman in ice. Liebling, toothless and frighteningly gaunt, is
anything but camera-friendly, and when you factor in his paranoid
delusion that parasites are eating him alive, causing him to
hideously claw at his own flesh, it’s something of a grim prospect
for the viewer. But it’s the music that matters here—Liebling was a
definite pioneer of doom metal—and for three years the filmmakers
follow Sean “Pellet” Pelletier, his diehard manager, who is
determined to score his idol one last chance at a recording.
Although most people around him, including his mother, expect him
to completely self-destruct, Liebling tells the filmmakers, “If you
want me around, I’ll stick around.” He even signs a contract with
Pelletier, promising to lay off the drugs, with the condition that,
should he relapse, he will give up his entire record
collection.
Talent aside, there’s nothing duller than the rantings of an addict
trying to self-cure, and Liebling is no exception, even at one
point evoking “sex, drugs and rock-and-roll” as his
mea
culpa. Thank God, then, for those parents, who emerge as the
real, compelling protagonists of the film. Despite every setback,
which includes a jail stint for their son which occurred during the
filming and is frustratingly glossed over, they have implicit
belief in his talent, not to mention unconditional love. Joe served
as Defense Department adviser to a string of U.S. presidents and
admits to having spent more than $1 million on Bobby, only hoping
for him to “be in the range of normalcy.” Diane is equally
likeable, bustling about her crowded kitchen over a pot of chili
while discussing the living corpse in her basement, to whom she
brings Fig Newtons and assures for the umpteenth time that no, he
doesn’t have parasites.
Film Review: Last Days Here
A living horror show, rocker Bobby Liebling’s sad, appalling tale is told in a film that will have some niche appeal but little else.
March 1, 2012
-By David Noh
For movie details, please click here.
Diane and Joe Liebling of Germantown, Maryland, surely deserve some kind of medal for parental tolerance. Residing in their basement for decades is their son, Bobby Liebling, the burnt-out, drug-addicted rocker whose seminal 1970s band, Pentagram, never lived up to its initial, considerable promise, largely due to his self-destructive ways.
Co-directors Don Argott and Demian Fenton have literally dug up this fascinating, if rather stomach-turning, subject for their awestruck documentary
Last Days Here, likening him to a caveman in ice. Liebling, toothless and frighteningly gaunt, is anything but camera-friendly, and when you factor in his paranoid delusion that parasites are eating him alive, causing him to hideously claw at his own flesh, it’s something of a grim prospect for the viewer. But it’s the music that matters here—Liebling was a definite pioneer of doom metal—and for three years the filmmakers follow Sean “Pellet” Pelletier, his diehard manager, who is determined to score his idol one last chance at a recording. Although most people around him, including his mother, expect him to completely self-destruct, Liebling tells the filmmakers, “If you want me around, I’ll stick around.” He even signs a contract with Pelletier, promising to lay off the drugs, with the condition that, should he relapse, he will give up his entire record collection.
Talent aside, there’s nothing duller than the rantings of an addict trying to self-cure, and Liebling is no exception, even at one point evoking “sex, drugs and rock-and-roll” as his
mea culpa. Thank God, then, for those parents, who emerge as the real, compelling protagonists of the film. Despite every setback, which includes a jail stint for their son which occurred during the filming and is frustratingly glossed over, they have implicit belief in his talent, not to mention unconditional love. Joe served as Defense Department adviser to a string of U.S. presidents and admits to having spent more than $1 million on Bobby, only hoping for him to “be in the range of normalcy.” Diane is equally likeable, bustling about her crowded kitchen over a pot of chili while discussing the living corpse in her basement, to whom she brings Fig Newtons and assures for the umpteenth time that no, he doesn’t have parasites.
