DVD Review: Very Extremely Dangerous

By Melissa Bratcher

Some people are born to be rock stars. Jerry McGill was one of them. He was talented, devilishly handsome, and had the kind of charisma that can’t be faked. He recorded a single for Sun Records, and it was a minor hit in 1959.

He also had a problem with staying out of trouble. Arrested in Memphis over 97 times, McGill did time in Federal prison. Between armed robbery, public drunkenness, illegal weapons, and attempted murder: McGill was no mere dabbler in crime.

Still, that didn’t stop Jerry McGill from changing his name and going on the road with Waylon Jennings, as Jennings’s road manager. McGill’s pseudonym, Curtis Buck, is credited on some of Waylon Jennings’s albums as a co-writer and rhythm guitarist.

The documentary Very Extremely Dangerous catches up with the elusive Jerry McGill shortly after he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Intent on making music again (“If you make good music, it matters when you die” he says early in the film), McGill books a session to record one last time. Members of North Mississippi All Stars show up to lend a hand. He records three songs, and though his voice is ravaged by time and cancer and rather bad choices, you can’t help but hear how remarkable his songs are. As a bonus, the DVD of Very Extremely Dangerous comes with a CD of the soundtrack, which includes McGill’s lost album as well as his Sun single. That, alone, is worth the price. The songs are amazing.

We see McGill struggle against his diagnosis and make some more spectacularly bad choices. He’s a rake, he’s a criminal, and he’s an addict with access to very serious pharmaceuticals. He’s hooked up with an old girlfriend, Joyce, whose face we never see, and their fights are horrifying. Filmmaker Paul Duane is in the backseat of Joyce’s car during one of these blowouts and his fear is palpable. Duane sounds genuinely terrified, though his horrified, “Jesus Christ”s are kind of hilarious.

His loyal friend, Paul Clements, is a bright spot in McGill’s dismal life. Watching sad-eyed Paul struggle with the fact that Jerry is dying is particularly wrenching.

Jerry McGill is fascinating, from a distance. He’s not the kind of person you want moving into your house (which he does, taking advantage of a friend’s generosity and then trashing the place and co-opting the owner’s clothes). He’s really funny and entertaining, and he swears fantastically. He’s an engaging storyteller. He becomes increasingly self-destructive, shooting up Dilaudid (though, as he points out, his name is on the prescription, so that makes it OK).

The archival footage of William Eggleston’s underground film Stranded In Canton is particularly illuminating. In it, McGill levels a gun at artist Randall Lyon’s head following a conflict. In that moment, there is no doubt that McGill will pull that trigger (spoiler: he doesn’t). He is so mesmerizing and so furiously magnetic, though, that it almost seems like it would be OK if he did. It’s bizarre.

What becomes of our outlaws when they get old? Very Extremely Dangerous shows us. It’s painful and awful and moving and sometimes ugly as hell. Jerry McGill made good music, though, and it mattered when he died.

Very Extremely Dangerous was released on November 25 by Fat Possum.