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There is a fade-in to the Monkees’ pad where in slow succession the same unnamed/unidentified blonde woman, who is never seen again, gives each band member an extended sensual kiss before leaving. It’s a blatantly sexual (and weirdly erotic) moment that still succeeds in leaving a slightly acrid aftertaste. Upon reflection, I think it’s because, like many other instances in Head, it take a potentially archetypal Hollywood moment and subverts it, leaving behind a hard to place, but distressing emptiness, in its wake.

It is worthwhile to discuss the function of the film’s songs in this context, because although there are only half a dozen distinct numbers, and most of them are fairly short, they work at odds with the film’s dour thematics by showcasing a talented band singing and playing a grab bag of memorable songs in several distinct genres. My personal favorite is “Circle Sky” penned and sung by Nesmith, with a sound that strikes me as in-line with rockabilly raveups. This is the only time in the film where all four are seen playing together on a tune, and in front of a mostly female audience stoked to hysterics.

Although the band performance (the only instance where they are “live”) is edited more than it should be - a similar thing happens during Jones’ wistful and melancholic solo number “Daddy Song” where his pas de deux with Toni Basil is Cuisinarted - there is no denying the evident electricity among the quartet, or the fact that they seem to genuinely enjoy performing together. As with other respites, such joy is short-lived, as at the conclusion of the song, the fans storm the stage and the band become plastic mannequins quickly torn limb from limb.

Despite the decree of “no philosophies” in “Ditty Diego,” the slightly more serious (and generally less successful) second half of Head is about nothing but the search for deeper meaning. Tork ponders life while an ice cream cone melts in his hand, a swami dispenses sage advice from the steam room and Frank Zappa (!) makes a cameo as “The Critic” to remind the band that the youth of the world need them, all while he walks his talking cow. Throughout, the band members battle an endless parade of authority figures - personified most predictably by a suspicious cop and least predictably by Hollywood matinee idol Victor Mature.

Mature, a star of the 1940s and 1950s in just about every genre under the sun (the same ones Head mocks on a continual basis) had mostly retired by 1968 but returned on a limited basis to play himself as needed. His character in Head is billed as “The Big Victor” and he appears to be modeled on a slightly less benevolent Jolly Green Giant. He emerges time and again to rain down the fury of a god on the hapless quartet. In the most memorable sustained non sequitur in the film, Mike, Davy, Micky and Peter find themselves stranded in the dark in the middle of a dandruff commercial only to be vacuumed off of Mature’s head and wind up inside a life-sized vacuum cleaner bag. There is a fair amount of wit about the whole progression, lacking the heavy-handedness that tips the scale at other moments. It feels like it could have been a sequence on the television show.

By the film’s end, the plot has reached a “this is where we came in” moment reminiscent of old serials where the entire band takes the plunge after disrupting the bridge dedication, and the resulting idyll, scored to a reprise of “Porpoise Song” is soaring until… well, if you’re expecting that some kind of happy ending will be obtained after all that has come before, you may want to stick with the television episodes.

One of the earliest critiques of Head that I recall coming across was in a review guide to music video compilations and other rock-music themed movies and concert films. The author posited a scenario in which a Monkees fan in late ‘68 caught the film and then (paraphrasing here) shuffled off quietly out of the theater, thinking silently to himself or herself “What the hell was that?” A lot of the film’s significance now rests in its status as a cultural artifact, a time capsule of a very particular moment in American history, and in the life cycle of a pop culture phenomenon. The music still holds up, and The Monkees in one form or another rode waves of nostalgic revivals that allowed them to keep touring over the decades. In a recent interview Nesmith indicated that he viewed Head as a necessary step in the evolution of the band and that, as unpleasant as the experience was, he would make the same decision to do the film again. Unwitting or not on his part, that comment is perhaps the most fitting and succinct analysis of what Head is all about.

Next time: We jump from the ‘60s to the ‘80s, and a cult musical documentary about the underground metal scene.

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