Spinal Tap needs no introduction. We all know the movie, we know the music and the jokes, we know the huge impact it had in the world of cinema, music, and satire in general. But here’s something you probably didn’t know: The creators of Spinal Tap got screwed out of their royalties.

Rob Reiner, Harry Shearer, Christopher Guest, and Michael McKean spent several years in long and ugly legal warfare with Universal over Spinal Tap. When the dust finally cleared in 2021, said creators of Spinal Tap — now under “Authorized Spinal Tap LLC”, which they wholly own — were finally awarded full ownership of their creations. So now, they might as well do something with the property and finally make some money off of it.

Thus we have Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, a sequel that follows up with the eponymous band 40 years after the “documentary” that made them famous. What’s it about?

Well, the plot kicks off with the passing of Ian Faith, Spinal Tap’s late manager (played by Tony Hendra, who coincidentally died in 2021). Thus Ian’s contract with Spinal Tap is inherited by his daughter (Hope Faith, played by Kerry Godliman), who figures she might as well put on a one-night-only reunion concert in New Orleans. Hilarity ensues.

No joke, this movie has even less of a plot than the first movie did. At least the first movie had some semblance of an arc, following the gradual decline and reformation of the title band. This time, all we get is a disjointed series of jokes and sketches, running out the clock until it’s finally time for the concert. Your mileage may vary as to whether that’s a bug or a feature.

This movie is typically built on the kind of rambling, improvised, “throw a million different jokes in every direction and we’ll make it funny in the editing room” style of comedy that I personally abhor. But this time, it works. For one thing, everyone on both sides of the camera are so experienced and so adept at working with each other, they can all make each other funnier with virtually zero effort. For another thing, that conversational style fits with the original film and the mockumentary style.

Perhaps most importantly, it feeds into the basic premise of Spinal Tap as a trio of delusional, self-important, rambling, drug-addled idiots. These guys never had a clue what they were talking about 40 years ago — you can imagine how clueless and long-winded they are this deep into their 70s. And yes, the characters’ encroaching age and pending mortality are touched upon in more than a few segments.

Then we have the cameo players. It’s imperative to note that in the past 40 years, in the real world, Spinal Tap has unironically become every bit as beloved and influential as they were always supposed to be in-canon. I need hardly add that the filmmakers themselves have gone on to make other iconic movies in the intervening years as well. (For instance, The Princess Bride didn’t happen until 1987.) As a direct result, the filmmakers could bring in a long and impressive roster of all-star musicians and actors like never would’ve been possible in 1984. Naturally, this makes the jokes so much funnier.

Case in point: Remember in the last movie, when Spinal Tap showed how irreverent and self-centered they were while pretending to give due homage to the grave of Elvis Presley? This time, they’re doing it to Sir Paul McCartney, alive and in the flesh, straight to his face. I doubt they could’ve done that back in 1984.

But of course my personal favorite example concerns the drummers. Because of course Spinal Tap needs a drummer for their big reunion concert, and they’ve had difficulty in procuring one, for obvious reasons. Thus we get a long string of world-famous drummers phoning in hilarious cameo appearances to politely turn down the gig and recommend someone else.

But they do eventually find a drummer. And honestly, she might be the best part of the movie. She’s by far the best new character we get, that’s for damn sure.

Valerie Franco (here playing a fictional drummer named Didi) is a legit drummer, best known for her stints with Halsey and Hayley Kiyoko. That experience makes all the difference when Didi comes to light up the drum set with skill and showmanship that can’t be faked. And when Franco comes in with comedic chops to hold her own against the fine-tuned team of Reiner et al., that’s saying a fuckload about her talent as a comedic actor. Seriously, anyone producing or directing the next great cinematic comedy needs Franco on the phone now.

That said, the very nature of her character is a huge contributing factor. It bears remembering that Didi is a drummer worthy of Spinal Tap, willing and able to join this world-famous metal band despite the notorious curse. This naturally means that Didi is a crazy wild-eyed bitch with no regard for her own self-preservation. The jokes all but write themselves.

Even better, Didi is a woman. Not only that, but she’s a queer woman (complete with a cameo from Annie Gordenier, Franco’s actual girlfriend). And she’s coming onto a band that got slammed for being sexist back in goddamn 1984. You’d expect there to be some friction as a result, but Didi subverts those expectations in clever ways that are diabolically funny.

Getting back to the musical jokes, the previous film was notable for its satire of the music industry. This time, we get Simon Howler (ha ha), played by Chris Addison. See, because Hope has no idea what she’s doing (That’s seriously her whole deal. She’s useless, that’s the entire joke.), she brought on a professional concert manager.

Here’s the problem: Simon is a straight-up sociopath. He’s pathologically incapable of hearing, playing, understanding, or appreciating music. For that matter, concepts like empathy and emotion are entirely beyond him. Simon isn’t even played as outright evil or campy — indeed, his mundane, matter-of-fact, flatly impersonal demeanor is central to the point.

Throughout the picture, Simon keeps bringing everything back to the spectacle, the merchandise, the promotion, and literally everything except the actual music. For him, the music is nothing more than a way to lure an audience in before they can be hooked and bilked for more money. He deals with everyone — from the artists to the audience and all points in between — as if they’re every bit as soulless, bland, and disposable as he is. As an avatar of the modern music industry, it’s quite the scathing satire.

But of course we get more callbacks and connections to the iconic songs and gags of the previous film. In fact, when the characters are playing music, jamming with each other and the occasional guest musician, that’s when the characters are visibly at their happiest and the film is at its best. Of course, it helps that we get some new jokes to make songs like “Big Bottoms” even funnier than they already were. Oh, and if you were wondering why “Stonehenge” was given such huge prominence in the film’s promotion — included in the film’s title, no less! — just wait until the climax. There’s a goddamn reason.

The three members of Spinal Tap and Marty DiBergi (Reiner) are the only major returning players, but we do get cameo appearances from the other notable surviving actors to see where their respective characters ended up. The famous “up to 11” bit doesn’t come back up, but Nigel (Guest) does show off the comical assortment of pedals he uses. There’s definitely a family resemblance there.

Overall, Spinal Tap II: The End Continues doesn’t have as clear a focus as the first movie. It doesn’t even really have much of a plot. The first movie was loaded with musical industry satire from start to finish — in the sequel, it’s pretty much entirely limited to one character. Sure, that character is brilliantly executed, but he’s still only one character. Sure the film has plenty of great jokes throughout, but there’s definitely a sense that the filmmakers are rambling just to fill 90 minutes of runtime.

In retrospect, it makes so much sense that this film was made as a victory lap for the purpose of celebrating a 40-year anniversary, staking claim as the new permanent owners of the property, and getting fresh money out of it. If anyone else had tried this, it would’ve been written off as a vanity project. In fact, given how badly this film bombed, most audiences probably did.

However, it makes a difference that these filmmakers have the talent and the clout to back it up. Reiner and the three leads have literal decades of practice acting off each other, playing characters they know inside and out, and every last ounce of that experience is put into making onscreen comedy. And they’ve surrounded themselves with other supremely and surprisingly talented comedians as well.

I’ll give them this victory lap, as there’s little doubt they’ve earned it. Nobody will mistake this film as a revolutionary masterpiece on par with the first, but that was never going to happen at any rate. Let’s just call this a sweet little postscript and proceed accordingly.