The first time we see Martin Phillipps, the one continuum of The Chills since its inception in 1980, is at a hospital in Dunedin, where he is being prodded, scanned and injected for a series of health tests. Phillipps has Hepatitis C, which he contracted by accident from a dirty needle (listen up kids: don’t do drugs) during his substance-hoovering days (of which there were many).
The prognosis isn’t good. Phillipps’ liver is 80 percent defunct and he has a 31 percent chance of surviving beyond the next 6-9 months if he doesn’t go teetotal. The check-up takes place at the end of 2016 and we travel with him throughout his brave bid to free himself of the disease, and cleanse himself from the demon drink (listen up kids: don’t do booze, well not whisky on the rocks for breakfast anyway).
While this conjures up images of a hellraiser, which aren’t exactly dispelled by the singer, we soon see a side of him that we may not have expected - the hoarder, with a huge collection of DVDs, records, CDs, books, artefacts, and toys. Yes, toys. Phillipps lives alone and his collecting obsession, he admits, is partially to compensate him for the isolated living situation.
As part of the cathartic experience of trying to save his life, Phillipps embarks on a mission to rid himself of some of this collection. Among this extraordinarily vast collection - some of which is included in an exhibition in Dunedin - are mummified cats which he paints then sticks on boards before hanging on the wall. He has also kept a tray of decapitated eggshells which he has painted.
Interspersed with this personal illumination on a somewhat eccentric character is the story of The Chills, undoubtedly one of New Zealand’s most influential bands. In four decades, The Chills have gone through 21 different line-ups and more than 30 members. In that sense alone they have an historical link to The Fall, led by another hard-drinking eccentric.
Phillipps hasn’t always treated his colleagues terribly well, and near the end of the documentary confesses to having failed some and apologises (if not effusively it has to be said) for not supporting them when he could. One such sad tale is that of the multi-talented Andrew Todd. The keyboardist bailed when it was clear he was getting neither the respect from his colleague nor job satisfaction from what he was doing with the band. Todd isn’t interviewed but many others are, including Terry Moore, who had three spells with the act, and one extremely unlikely member, Phil Kusabs who had a background in death metal acts before joining the “twee indie band”.
We learn of the death of an early band member, Martyn Bull, who before he succumbed to leukaemia, gave Phillipps his prized leather jacket, leading to The Chills’ legendary ‘I Love My Leather Jacket’ single. There was a serious car collision with a truck on a small bridge, in which everyone remarkably survived, personality clashes, and debt. Phillipps comes across as personable and driven, but also possibly narcissistic.
Director Julia Parnell also talks to former managers of the band, as well one of the few musical superstars from Aotearoa, Neil Finn, who offers rather little insight other than a few platitudes.
Around 1990, The Chills were making inroads into America and the album Submarine Bells was a massive hit. But it soon fell apart, and Phillipps was back in Dunedin left to ponder once again another incarnation of the band.
The fact that there have been numerous versions of the same band since, and The Chills recorded their finest effort for many years, Snow Bound, in 2018, speaks volumes for the toughness and commitment of Phillipps and the musicians who have stood by him.
Near the end of the film Phillipps returns to see the same medic in the same hospital and is informed that there are now no signs of Hepatitis C. Onwards to the next Chills studio album.
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