MacGowan was situationally disturbed, as he puts it, well before he started using those Class A drugs that made Sinead snitch. From the film, we learn the move from MacGowan's Irish town near Borrisokane North Tipperary to central London set his life spinning off axis, never to regain balance. The move turned him into a "degenerate, a drunk and a thief," he slurs in an interview. It's unclear which move MacGowan meant: away from North Tipperary or back to North Tipperary?
Someone off camera, asks him what makes MacGowan happy. On the verge of alcoholic oblivion, his face is comically stricken as he struggles to focus on the question. Just as you think he won't speak, he says that he can't put his answer into words. Then, with disarming candor, MacGowan adds that his native tongue has a larger vocabulary and would make a question like that easier to answer.
People say a lot of things about MacGowan. Fellow songwriter Nick Cave said MacGowan was the "master of opening lines," MacGowan's girlfriend Victoria said he "doesn't think like other people do. He's not logical. He allows the music to come through." Of himself, MacGowan says, "All I did was play old fashioned Irish music...Jigs, reels....lyrics about drinking, fuckin, fighting," snigger, snigger. "Romantic lyrics like 'I met a damsel both fair and handsome/She took my breath away/' I mean, it's not exactly that," snigger, snigger. It's a hilarious contradiction to what people seem to believe about him.
My favorite moment is when MacGowan goes from one impulse (altruism) to another (criminalism) in just one city block. Outside a bar, MacGowan hands bills to a homeless guy. A few steps later, he rattles a bike locked to a yard gate. All he needs is a hacksaw to steal it, he says. "This would get a 13£ bag for a junkie," he says with that slurry snigger that's totally degenerate and endearing.
Opens at the Roxie Cinema in SF AUGUST 22nd. For city dates in the US and elsewhere, contact Doug Zwick at Poptwist or email him at dzwick@poptwist.com.
Article comments
1 - Cindy Collins Smith
Hey, thanks for the info on a Shane documentary. In 1993, Shane played at the opening of the Viper Room, and Johnny Depp hired a local Irish band to back him. So I ended up playing three gigs backing Shane on accordion at the Viper Room.
He was a train wreck then, and it's sad to hear that he's a train wreck now. Back then, his eyes were so red they were swollen. But occasionally you could see the brilliance behind the stupor as he would suddenly pop out of his coma to teach us how to count the long bar in "Fairytale of New York" or remember that the singer at Molly Malone's had worn a green sweater two weeks earlier.
And yes, he is magnetic... as I discovered while sitting on the couch in the rehearsal studio as he took the mic 5 feet in front of me and sang what little he knew of "Downtown Train." The guy has some type of indescribable magic when he takes the mic--no matter whether he knows the words or not, and no matter what shape he's in.
Shane is a brilliant songwriter, and (contrary to his public persona) he's a nice guy. I just wish he didn't feel that he has to kill himself to pursue his muse.
2 - Bugsy
The idea that MacGowan was mocking Rotten is foolish given his obvious idolization of the man. What you saw was drunken nostalgia. Unfortunately, it comes across as sad. But then, he's a sad fucker, Shane. Some of us used to think Buke was a real hero, too. Whoops! Just another genius drowning in the cups.