‘Spinal Tap II: The End Continues’ review: Mockumentary sequel proves gentle swansong for fictional rockers | Reviews

Dir: Rob Reiner. US. 2025. 83mins

Over 40 years after 1984’s This Is Spinal Tap pioneered the comedy mockumentary, it remains one of the most pitch-perfect examples of the genre. Following the exploits of the eponymous fictional British heavy metal band, it was powered by biting observational humour and infectious anarchic energy. Now director Rob Reiner and the original cast return with a long-awaited sequel, which sees the now-septuagenarian rockers reuniting for one last gig.

A little too slick, polished and well-mannered 

Perhaps unsurprisingly – and intentionally – Spinal Tap II: The End Continues is a much gentler affair, intended to affectionately lampoon those ageing musicians who struggle to retain their creative spark and trade heavily in nostalgia. There is plenty of that here – the film essentially retreads old ground and gags – but the sharp wit of the original is sadly lacking. Nevertheless, that is unlikely to dissuade the original film’s legion of fans when the film releases in the US and UK on September 12.

Reiner returns as director Marty Di Bergi, who has decided to document Spinal Tap’s preparations for their final gig in New Orleans – one they are contractually obliged to play, and which is being staged by Hope Faith (Kerry Godliman), the daughter of their now-deceased old manager Ian Faith (played by the late Tony Hendra). The band haven’t spoken in 15 years: lead singer David St Hubbins (Michael McKean) lives in California and plays in a Mariachi band; guitarist Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) runs a cheese shop in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; and bassist Derek Smalls (Harry Shearer) works in a glue museum in London.

As the band reluctantly gets back together, Spinal Tap II follows the familiar contours of rock documentaries. The band auditions for another drummer – that they have lost several to unfortunate accidents is one of many running jokes, and real-life luminaries like Questlove and Metallica’s Lars Ulrich all make their excuses as to why they can’t step in. (Eventual hire Didi Crockett, played by incredibly talented battle drummer Valerie Franco, is one of the highlights of the film). They attempt to find their groove in the studio, where they are joined for jams by famous vintage stars Paul McCartney and Elton John. They rehearse in the stadium, where old animosities – and Nigel’s now-extreme guitar pedal setup – threaten to derail the show.

In between is the familiar Spinal Tap schtick; bizarre costume choices, questionable set-design – fans of the original’s now-iconic ‘Stonehenge’ moment will not be disappointed – constant bickering and, of course, a roster of songs including ‘Hell Hole’, ‘Big Bottom’ and ‘Bitch School’. That nothing whatsoever is made of the band’s trademark offensive lyrics seems an odd, missed opportunity for this contemporary update, which elsewhere brings in modern bits about K-pop, social media and soulless merchandising. (All mainly delivered by The Thick Of It star Chris Addison’s publicity shyster Simon Howler).

The screenplay, again written by Reiner, Guest, McKean and Shearer, is full of cameos from old faces (including Fran Drescher’s publicist Bibbi Flekman and David’s old flame Jeanine, played by June Chadwick) and stuffed with sometimes-hilarious throwaway lines: David having scored a film called ‘Night Of The Assisted Living Dead’; Nigel’s fascination with an effects pedal that sounds like the guitar is “singing through a duck”. The cast deliver it all as effortlessly as ever – most of them having built careers on this kind of observational, off-beat comedy, which includes the likes of The Mighty Wind and Best In Show – and there is pleasure in seeing them inhabit these characters once again.

There is, however, something a little too slick, polished and well-mannered about Spinal Tap II, made even more obvious by the snippets from the first film which are peppered throughout. That’s not just in the camerawork from Lincoln Else, which is far more composed and traditional than the off-the-cuff handheld aesthetic of Peter Smokler’s work in the original. It’s also in the film’s palpable self-awareness, of both the current cultural moment and the enduring, endlessly quotable impact of its predecessor. That results in a loss of some of the light-footedness, the spontaneous joy which made the original such a classic.

That’s all perhaps unavoidable in a film which, after all, focuses on men long past their prime attempting to recapture something of their youth and secure their legacy – Derek even writes a song called ‘Rocking In The Urn’. But the film underplays that more melancholy, introspective element as it tries to hit the comedy high notes and, as a result, ends up falling rather flat.