Shane MacGowan, frontman for Irish punk group the Pogues, likes to drink. The tales of his alcohol consumption are legendary, leading his bandmates to kick him out of the group in 1991 for missing gigs. Now 62 and much worse for wear, we almost never see the wheelchair-bound songwriter without a drink in hand throughout Julien Temple’s new documentary Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan.
Temple, who made the definitive Sex Pistols documentary, The Filth and the Fury (2000), attempts to tell not only the story of MacGowan and the Pogues, but to give us a mini-history lesson on Irish music and lifestyle. The first half of the lengthy film chronicles how MacGowan, who moved from Ireland to London when he was six, moved on from his days as a punk rocker with the Nipple Erectors to a more noble mission: to “save Irish music.”
For fans of the Pogues, Crock of Gold is a bittersweet look at a genius songwriter who drowned himself in excess. Many of the people interviewed, including MacGowan himself and his sister, claim that his drinking doesn’t stem from self-hatred or destructiveness but rather a joie de vivre fueled by alcohol. However, there is something difficult about seeing MacGowan now, immobilized, incoherent, bloated and pale, tell his wife that he would love to write songs prolifically again someday.
Much of the narration is done by MacGowan as Temple uses a series of archival interviews to compile his story. A lot of it is subtitled, however, as the singer is typically inebriated during these interviews. The footage skips around from MacGowan now to concert footage to clips from other films that sometimes seem unrelated. The movie feels frenetic, much like the music of the Pogues and at first, it’s quite dizzying and difficult to penetrate.
Still irascible, MacGowan refused to be interviewed by Temple, but sits for a series of non-conventional conversations with Johnny Depp (who produced the film), Sinn Fein politician Gerry Adams, musician Bobby Gillespie and even his wife, Victoria. MacGowan ranges from pensive to combative, shutting down Gillespie even before the interview begins and rages about Elvis Costello, who produced the Pogues’ second album, Rum Sodomy and the Lash, claiming he tossed the star out on his “fat arse” when they disagreed about a song.
The story of the Pogues does not feel fully told, however. It is criminal that none of MacGowan’s former bandmates appear. Also, the chronology is out of whack. Photos from the mid-‘90s appear while MacGowan discusses the ‘80s. There is no mention of the band’s final two records with MacGowan, nor how they replaced him with Joe Strummer for a spell after kicking him out. Neither album MacGowan made with the Popes is given any time.
It is hard not to feel bad for MacGowan. The film culminates at his 60th birthday celebration where luminaries from Bono to Sinead O’Connor to Nick Cave serenade the singer with his own songs. But these songs are so full of life and MacGowan is now stuck in a wheelchair, his face a permanent moony mask of surprise, his laugh little more than a hiss. In the interview that closes the film, MacGowan appears to have drool on his face.
MacGowan, for many, is one of the 20th century’s best songwriters. The film highlights “Fairytale of New York” (currently a subject of controversial censoring by the BBC) as the pinnacle of his career, but MacGowan also penned numerous lovelorn ballads and fiery political numbers that reveal his full-throated republican politics.
I had a chance to see the Pogues a few times when they reformed in the early ‘00s. MacGowan could still stand up then but one evening he came out completely wasted, his fly wide open. People in the audience fed him drinks, which he drank without pause. We want to see a drunk Shane MacGowan. That’s part of the package, he claims in the film. No drunken audience will tolerate a guy who pretends to be shit-faced. That’s part of the paradox of MacGowan that Temple captures in Crock of Gold. The singer claims he’s happy and that the crock of gold (aka happiness) is something he has always pursued. May as well pour him another round.
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