A classic, scathing lampoon of every successful rock band that's ever been guilty of taking themselves too seriously. Rob Reiner directs (and plays an important supporting role) but it seems like all he really needed to do was point a camera in the right direction, then edit several hours' worth of golden improvisational delight into a concise, intelligible ninety-minute package. It's a roaring parade of nonstop laughs, some blunt and easy, others sharp and witty. Famous bits like Christopher Guest's "this one goes to eleven" have been played to death but still elicit smiles, while deeper cuts, such as the band's reaction to contemporary critics or their infamous Stonehenge performance, land as if they were brand new. And the music is great, too, not just as a cutting satire, but as a convincing love letter to the days when power rock was all the rage and flocks of buzzed, well-feathered teens would still pack a stadium to hear the loudest noise on the planet. An enduring masterpiece.