The Gits are about addiction, they’re
about loss, they were about love.
We became, I think, a real band of
the people.
There has not been anything like them since then.
When Zapata
was murdered, that just destroyed us all.
These are a few of
the statements that open the recently released music documentary The
Gits Movie (JAB Films and Knockout Productions). Friends and record
executives introduce us to the 90s-era Seattle punk rock band through
various voiceovers that underscore a band photograph. The black and
white shot—seemingly from a photo shoot—not only captures a band,
it shows a close-knit family made up four friends who hold a deep
love and respect for one another. Mia Zapata (vocals), Matt Dresdner
(bass), Steve Moriarty (drums), and Andy Kessler (guitar)—who met
and began playing together as The Gits during their time at Antioch University inOhio—are the subject of the film. It traces their short but influential
music career, which ended with Zapata’s murder.
Soon after forming
in the fall of 1986, The Gits moved to Seattle to check out the music
scene. They immediately felt at home, unaware that the explosion
of what came to be known as grunge—and later alternative—was soon
to follow. As the film shows, The Gits embodied the post-punk D.i.Y
ethic, which their drummer Steve Moriarty describes in the film by
explaining, “If you need to make something happen and decided you
were gonna do it, you started from scratch and you just did it. And
that’s how we put out our first record.” Their furious blend of punk
and blues drew a devoted following and generated interest from major
record labels, and the band was on the cusp of being signed by Atlantic
Records when Zapata was abducted and brutally raped and murdered on
July 7, 1993.
The Gits Movie chronicles a band with many centers,
including their deep friendship, dedicated musicianship, strong influence
on a burgeoning music scene, and their horribly tragic ending. The
interviews with band members, family, and friends provide new insight
while the live performances draw you in with their high energy, electricity,
and inspiring enthusiasm. The family photos of Zapata and testimonials
from friends tug at your heart. Particularly moving is the depiction
of the deep and soulful musical relationship between Zapata and Kessler,
as music critic Ann Powers describes in the film: “They were not lovers,
they weren’t a romantic duo, they were an artistic duo. The depth
of their connection was really in the music. It’s a lyricist and a
music writer who understands each other’s rhythms.” As she speaks,
the filmmakers cut to The Gits performing on stage. Kessler quickly
and instinctively walks over to Zapata and whispers in her ear. We
don’t hear what he says, but it is obvious that they are in sync with
one another on stage. The film then cuts to a color photograph of
Kessler and Zapata sitting casually on a park bench as Kessler explains
in a voiceover, “She was like my soul mate.” Kessler, now on screen,
speaks movingly about their collaboration: “As far as my music soul
mate, it’s kind of a miracle to meet someone like that in this life.”
In another affecting moment, Zapata’s father recounts poignantly a
conversation he had with his daughter. Zapata called him from a fancy
restaurant in Los Angeles and told him that record executives were
making promises. He finishes the story by recounting Zapata’s response
when asked by the record executives what the band’s goals were. “All
I want is a cabin in the woods, an English Sheep dog, a jeep,” as
he recounts of his daughter’s words, “and to be able to sit and write
music.” Her father goes on to say that one of the executives answered
her by offering, “We can give you that right now.” This was in June
of 1993. One month later, Zapata was murdered. As the film shows,
it was not just Zapata’s life and future that were tragically and
violently stolen, but Kessler’s, Moriarty’s, Dresdner’s, and their
friends and family.
The third act of the film, which focuses mainly
on Zapata’s murder and the devastating aftermath, is extremely compelling.
In one moment, a vibrant and thriving Zapata is performing with her
bandmates at a packed Seattle club, passionately singing her guts
out to sweaty, head-bobbing fans pushed up against the stage. This
scene is cut abruptly by a local TV newsreel replaying coverage of
the crime scene where her body was found. The viewer is cast as a
witness as interviews by close friends Selene Vigil and Valeria Agnew
(of 7 Year Bitch) stream by. The pacing reflects the immediate impact
of Zapata’s death on everyone who loved and knew her. The music and
performance footage comes to a halt, a cut that symbolizes the violent
end to Zapata’s life, her future, and the incredible loss left to
be managed by her family, friends, and community.
