Stern wastes no time pulling out campy and bizarre tricks and embellishments to show off in his music documentary on the Butthole Surfers and the Austin, Texas punk scene at large. The writer and director is best known for comedies such as Freaked (1993). He carries over his penchant for low-budget absurdism into the craft of documentary filmmaking. It’s a match made-in-heaven for an act as idiosyncratic and goofy as Butthole Surfers. The band thrived off their on-stage theatrics such as ripping up 10-foot teddy bears, throwing xeroxed cockroaches and firing shotguns.
The director uses frenetic editing throughout, knowing when to get lost on a fun tangent. The documentary feels fresh and energetic even to those who are already familiar with the band. The film employs a variety of antics, such creepy puppets depicting memories of each band member through their highest highs and their lowest lows. It’s bold and wilfully silly. Stern and co-writer Simon Weinstein have a deep understanding of what made the Butthole Surfers so compelling to punk fans.
Much like Alex Ross Perry’s bizarre and endlessly inventive music doc Pavements (2025) – about slacker rock giants Pavement -, Stern makes an emotionally dynamic movie. It’s a seriously difficult challenge when covering a band that prides itself on their own nihilistic sense of humour. The documentary is infused with the appropriate balance of earnestness and genuine sentimentality. As they go through the recording process behind the band’s debut record Psychic…Powerless…Another Man’s Sac, there is an emphasis on the song, Lady Sniff. Comedian and actor Eric Andre states: “this is the closest a song could come to just feeling like a cartoon”.
Even at their most unhinged, Butthole Surfers remain unapologetically political. They represent non-conformity during a time of violent corporate burgeoning. Drummers Teresa Nervosa and King Coffey, two often figures overlooked bye mainstream outlets, are given more voice than other band members. Their path to becoming part of Butthole Surfers displays the queer and feminist potential of punk music. The critical lens is also aimed at frontman and agitator Gibby Haynes. This is achieved without lapsing into romantisation and didacticism.
The filmmaker avoids the pitfalls of conventional documentary filmmaking, even if limited to a modest budget and not having access to a bounty of archival footage. When tethered by talking heads interviews, Stern weaves in the band’s insanity into each cut and new quote. The approach is a surreal and with a reckless twist. There’s raw excitement is with each impossible anecdote and feral off-the-dome rock ramblings. Much like the music of Butthole Surfers, The Butthole Surfers Movie is ugly, ridiculous and somehow beautiful.
The Butthole Surfers Movie premieres at the 12th edition of the Doc’n Roll Film Festival.
