No Loafing on the Path to Nirvana in Mediocre Meatloaf: In Search of Paradise

“Well, the film is about—you don’t know what it’s about,” Meat Loaf says to filmmaker Bruce David Klein in an early on-camera interview in Meat Loaf: In Search of Paradise. “That’s what it’s about.”

Presumably, the director included this horrifyingly indulgent interview footage because he thought it would add some humor to the film, a documentary that follows Meat Loaf on one leg of his 2007 tour. Klein might have been better advised to leave that particular moment out, though, as it ends up hitting a little too close to home. He doesn’t really know what his own film is about—and neither does the audience.

There’s a vague sense, of course: okay, we’ve gathered together for whatever reason to watch a ninety-minute biopic concerning a huge, hairy, oily diva and the people who inexplicably continue to put up with him. And it’s fun, at first, to watch the sheer ridiculousness of this character build up. Meat Loaf is manic! Meat Loaf is depressive! Meat Loaf is manic again! Meat Loaf has some health concerns! (This is painstakingly, and almost condescendingly, illustrated by a long still-life shot of his Kleenex, vitamins, and Lysol.) Meat Loaf takes himself seriously enough to say, with a straight face, things like “I’m total improv, continuously. I work off the seat of my pants. I work off the top of my head. But I don’t think.” Oh, and look, there’s Dennis Quaid! Meat Loaf and Dennis Quaid are singing together!

Still, even ironic enjoyment of the film wears off pretty quickly, and the viewer is left with a shambling little mess to try and figure out. The major tension in the film is the fact that although most news outlets have been giving Loaf’s recent concerts good reviews, almost every one mentions his staging of standby Bat Out of Hell hit “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” as pervy. This fails as a deep-seated conflict for two reasons: first, as Loaf and his hangers-on point out time and time again, the reviews are overall pretty positive. It’s hard to join in with Loaf and his buddies maligning music critics simply for pointing out one negative aspect of a show to which an otherwise good review is ascribed.

The other more immediate reason that it’s hard to see Meat Loaf as an unlikely hero in the situation is because the film shows footage of numerous performances of the “Dashboard” sequence, and it totally is pervy. Young, lithe Aspen Miller, one of Loaf’s two backup singers, minces onstage wearing a miniscule cheerleader’s outfit. Then very clearly middle-aged Loaf kisses and gropes her while she cartoonishly protests. And they wonder why people have a problem with it.

Actually, there is at least one interesting thing about the “Dashboard” kerfluffle—and you’ll have to find something interesting about it in order to stay awake through the entire film. Once it’s introduced, the movie is largely devoted to handling the song. The solution Meat Loaf hatches to remedy the outraged reviews is—wait for it—to do the exact same thing. Except this time, he and the rest of the band will be dressed in vintage clothing. Because in the ’70s, Meat Loaf was younger than he is now, and was thus closer to Aspen Miller’s current age! Get it? (It’s okay if you don’t. It’s a dumb idea.)

It says something about Meat Loaf, though, that his immediate inclination in a time of trouble is to hearken back to the era when he was most recognizable. Surprisingly, he half-succeeds: the costumes the band finds do suggest pretty strongly a time when Meat Loaf still mattered. It’s just a shame the film itself can’t pull off the same feat.