Film review: Claptrap - the Kingswood documentary
The unexpectedly moving portrait of an Australian rock band and their 100-show tour
Claptrap is a documentary about the band Kingswood, directed and filmed by Darcy Newton and produced by Luca Catalano, as the band embarked on the longest tour in Australian history, playing 100 shows. During that time they held the number one spot on the Australian country music charts for several weeks, and they travelled in their own bus, which is a character in and of itself in this movie.
Anyone who has seen Kingswood live no doubt goes back for more, and they aggregate as a live band: the more you see, the more you want to see. This documentary gives us glimpses of that live power – enough to make it clear to the audience just how good they are – but this is not a concert movie. It’s a road movie. And a movie about the organism that is a touring band. And it’s about the friendship of Kingswood’s founding members, Fergus Linacre and Alex Laska, friends since childhood. As Laska says in the film, a friend is a companion who sees life the way you do. Linacre and Laska are very different men but the way they jointly see life is at the heart of the Kingswood enterprise.
One of the most memorable things about this movie, however, is not to do with music, or life on the road, or the work of running a band and keeping it running across a continent. It’s the way in which emotion is depicted as something that none of the men in the band – Laska, Linacre, drummer Josh Koop and bass player Braiden Michetti (who was temporarily replaced for six weeks on the tour by Bella Christidis) – resile from.
One of the most memorable scenes features Koop, clearly physically unwell and also, we understand, grieving the death of his mother, telling Laska that he’s spent some time crying. ‘That’s normal,’ replies Laska, so matter-of-factly that it seems likely he’s had that exact response to someone else saying the same thing. At a time when there is much said about men’s mental health, when we exhort men to talk to other people about their worries, that scene was the biggest encouragement there could be for that, because in the world there is Laska, and men like him, who are there to say it’s okay. Emotion can be expressed. Music can still be played. It was the best, most elegant, way to ‘show not tell’ the message that still needs to be conveyed to so many.
Later there is a glimpse into the closeness between Laska and Linacre where not a word is spoken. Laska is sitting, Linacre is walking towards him, and they affectionately pat each other as Linacre passes, and that’s the entirety of the exchange. It is, actually, a microcosm of why the band works: its members love and care for each other, and that leads to them creating great art because it’s coming from such a deep, rich well of regard. What we see in their interactions is how decent they are to each other. Yes, there are frustrations, issues, bad days, bad-weather days, nights when alcohol is needed to switch off the brain for sleep. But they do not lose their regard for each other. If anything, the long and winding road of touring increases it.
What we are left with at the end of Claptrap is a portrait of artists who create out of love, not fear. Out of the healthy side of ego not the grasping side. If anyone still believes that art needs to come from pain and suffering they should watch this film. What it illustrates is that art comes from showing up and sticking with it. From talent and application, and mostly the latter. You can be a rock star and still be polite to people and thoughtful with your band mates and really, truly, that is your foundation – your core, your beating heart – and your art comes from the frequency you emit to others, which is an expansive way to be in the world that allows for some contraction when the artist needs to spend time in the cave.
Laska says something else interesting in Claptrap: that it’s the default position of everyone to take from others (or words to that effect) so he is mindful to give. That assessment of taking is said without judgement; it’s an acknowledgement of fact. Linacre doesn’t say anything similar – at least not in the film – but it’s a fair bet that he’s of the same mind. They’re friends, after all. And a friend is a companion who sees life the way you do. These two friends have shaped a musical universe that is still expanding, and Claptrap documents how and why.