Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition
3.5 out of 5 stars

By J.C. Correa

Even if you know absolutely nothing about heavy metal music, chances are that you have at least encountered Iron Maiden’s iconic iconography at some point in your life, either on a t-shirt, a banner, or an album cover. And chances are that, through a highly-stylized, vibrantly-colorful, comic book-like depiction of some type of gruesome scene, it immediately either scared you away from discovering the band in any way (and maybe even the genre as a whole), or fully drew you in by directly tapping into your morbid curiosity. One thing is for certain: Eddie, the zombie-like mascot that appears on practically every single piece of merch from the group in some form, certainly left an impression.

In Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition, the new feature-length documentary that charts the career of the pioneering British metal band, Eddie, perhaps expectedly, is front and center. The origins of his design are elaborated on, as well the character’s evolution across the decades to fit whatever aesthetic requirement of the time. “Eddie can be anything,” a fan proudly proclaims at one point. Crucially, we are made to understand why the group enthusiastically settled early on on making him their face. This M.O. has remained consistent, not only throughout their 50-year career, but is also put into practice now, as the film features several current interviews with the outfit’s various members – past and present – but only in the form of soundbites; their mugs never to be seen. 

Instead, we witness spirited, on-camera testimonials from notable music industry personalities like Tom Morello, Chuck D, Lars Ulrich, Ross Halfin, Gene Simmons, and Scott Ian, to name a few, all of whom openly praise Maiden’s remarkable career. Chuck D breaks it down perfectly when he insightfully attributes the band’s success to four key components: sight, sound, story, and style. 

Of course, like with all great industry tales, it wasn’t always highs, and director Malcolm Venville traces the group’s East London working-class origins to the original vision of bassist Steve Harris. It is established that this was Harris’s baby from the start, and a large reason for its fulfillment was, and continues to be, his driving determination. Much is made, and rightfully so, of the unit’s rare ability to get so big during the 1980s with virtually no radio airplay anywhere in the world. In the end, a lot of that falls on Harris, and on his insistent belief (as well as on manager Rod Smallwood’s) that they continue to do things their way at all costs. “If you build it, they will come,” has rarely applied so accurately as to the story of Iron Maiden. 

To that end, one of the things that singles the band out among their genre peers is the rabid, devoted fanbase that they have amassed across the decades. It is one that, it’s fair to say, is not just among the most passionate and dedicated in all of heavy metal, but across the music industry as a whole. In fact, one of their biggest fans is Spanish actor Javier Bardem, who gleefully waxes poetic on his love of the group so much during the documentary that he practically has a starring role in it. At one point, he recites the lyrics of “Run to the Hills,” one of the band’s most well-known numbers, with a seriousness worthy of Shakespearean poetry. At another moment, like a 13-year-old kid stoked on the group’s overall vibe, the Oscar-winning actor joyfully declares, “Hell is fun!”

Unfortunately, what wasn’t always so was the relentless touring schedule that the outfit was subjected to in its halcyon decade; in some cases, being forced to play gigs on six or seven consecutive nights. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that scenario is particularly brutal on a singer, and Maiden’s perennial frontman Bruce Dickinson, one of heavy metal’s most distinguished voices, gets into the weeds of all this with fascinating detail. As a licensed airline pilot (seeing him personally fly the band during a world tour from city to city on a flight cheekily labeled “666” is a hoot), work-ethic extraordinaire, opinionated purist (“You can’t play metal with synthesizers!”), and even throat cancer survivor, Dickinson is easily the most interesting member in Maiden’s arsenal. At the very least, we see enough vintage footage of him at concerts during their heyday to further confirm his position as one of rock’s preeminent showmen.  

Like the majority of documentaries detailing a career, this one opts for a chronological narrative. It’s a decision that works just fine, partly because it allows it to delve into the various personnel changes over the years in a clear and concise manner. However, besides Harris and guitarist Dave Murray – both of whom have been on board since 1975 and 1976, respectively – we all know by now that the group’s most permanent fixture is Eddie himself. And in this regard the movie feels the need to treat him as an indispensable presence. On the one hand, it’s an understandable choice, given how crucial and seismic a role he has played in their success, not to mention how beloved he is by the fans. But this also, unfortunately, becomes a trap, forcing the filmmakers to halt the progression of the story on several occasions simply for the sake of inserting grandiose animated sequences of Eddie just… being Eddie. These diversions ultimately stunt the narrative’s momentum to a frustrating degree and serve no real purpose other than to function as gratuitous fan service. Instead of cleverly making a single statement through it, doing it so often is something that I suspect only the most hardcore fans will find any kind of value in. The pretentious, science fiction-like opening, where it’s implied that Maiden’s force is a cosmic one, probably appears less ridiculous here than it would with other artists who might not depend on such a vital sense of self-aggrandizement for their prosperity.

Once you get past all the myth making, though, a compelling story of brotherhood lies at the core of all this. Importance is placed on the healthy band dynamics that exist within Maiden, and, in the rare instances when this was challenged – such as Harris and Dickinson initially fighting each other for a place at center stage – how it all quickly got resolved. What we have is a portrait of a group of musicians working exceptionally well as a team, one that’s free of ego. It is this very ethic that helped them overcome the sudden shift into significantly smaller venues as a result of a sharp decline in popularity during the 1990s, as well as Dickinson’s sudden departure, and eventual return to the fold around that same time. When longtime drummer Nicko McBrain announces his retirement in 2024 after suffering a stroke, it is touching to see both the manner in which Harris tries to accommodate his friend in order to keep him on, and the outpouring of love bestowed on him by the fans.

In the end, this last point really is the ultimate barometer of Iron Maiden’s success. The documentary really goes out of its way to highlight the level of passion and devotion that this particular fanbase has for its heroes. Besides Bardem, who is clearly the most famous one, countless other fans also recount their loyalty and decades-long enthusiasm on camera. It’s an endearing sight, one that lasts all the way through the end credits. And it makes you think that it’s the type of phenomena probably worthy of its own feature someday. 

Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition is currently playing in theaters.