Rated R. At AMC Boston Common and South Bay Center, Regal Fenway and suburban theaters.
Foo Fighters founder Dave Grohl, fresh off a best-selling memoir and successful pandemic-era tour, apparently decided two documentaries would be enough and for the band’s next cinematic adventure, what better than a cheesy, ironic horror movie?
“Studio 666” has Grohl and his entire band of merry Foos ostensibly recording their 10th album in an LA-area house that’s been empty since the band’s inception in 1994.
In 1993, we see gruesome murders and a suicide that happened there – and the demonic curse behind it may still linger in the creepy basement.
As the band playfully banter with R-rated language and settle in for what should be a quick few weeks to record their album, Dave descends into madness, possessed by the dark devil in this forbidden cellar.
His friends — a jolly, camera-friendly band led by drummer Taylor Hawkins, Nate Mendel on bass, Pat Smear and Chris Shiflett on guitar, and keyboard/pianist Rami Jaffee — are slow to recognize he’s turning into a parody of the self-absorbed rock star who loudly proclaims in a hissing fit, “I’m a rock star (expletive) and I can do whatever I want!”
Which turns out to be almost true.
As it seems padded to last 100 minutes, no one in the house is too quick to notice that a member of the group is suddenly dead, after being horribly fried. When they find out about the unfortunate turn of events, they decide to stay and finish the album anyway.
There’s a very quick cameo – blink and you’ll miss him – with Lionel Richie dropping by to tell the creatively stuck Dave that, no, he can’t use Richie’s “Hello” as his song.
Add nosy neighbor Samantha (Whitney Cummings – is she a ‘Bewitched’ homage?), who really, really pisses Dave off with her plates of homemade cookies, and a food delivery guy (bearded Will Forte) who’d like nothing better for Dave than listening to his music CD.
Surprise! Dave is uninterested in anyone else’s music as he descends into full psychic possession. Somehow there’s a head minus his body rolling, but no one wants to call the cops – until they’ve finished Dave’s song which is, in a running joke, unending.
Ridiculously bloody and, OK, just plain ridiculous, this is Grohl’s gift to fans who may have really purchased Foo’s 10th album and know that fantasy of recording a 10th album is all just a bloody dream come true.