New NOFX Documentary Charts the Band’s Unruly Rise and Wrapping Up

Fat Mike is not my favorite person. Let’s just get that out of the way. While his band NOFX is undoubtedly one of the most iconic of ’90s and early-aughts pop punk — and they long ago mastered the art of fun, unpredictable live shows — anyone with longterm involvements with punk, Bay Area or otherwise, has been witness to the front man’s air of entitlement in one form or another.

Some of my issues with Fat Mike (real name: Mike Burkett) are petty — like the time I saw him skip to the front of a very long bathroom line at a show and respond to objectors with the words “But I’m Fat Mike.” Some of the things that turned me off were full-blown controversies — like the time he gave his own audience shots of tequila that may or may not have contained his pee. Or the time he publicly made a tasteless joke about a Las Vegas mass shooting.

Truthfully, most of the things that have soured me on the vocalist/bassist are behind-the-scenes tales that I’ll not risk writing about here because I am aware that NOFX as a unit can be rather litigious. (I once received a “cease and desist” notice from the band’s lawyer for attempting to sell a punk rock dog hoodie on Etsy that included one of their patches.) Refreshingly, NOFX’s penchant for legal wrangling is reflected immediately in the band’s new documentary — an honest move, given that they produced 40 Years of Fuckin’ Up themselves.

The first words the viewer sees on screen are as follows:

In 2024, the punk rock band NOFX ended their 40 year career after a worldwide final tour. At the time of filming, some of the band’s members were no longer speaking and involved in legal disputes. This is the last time they will ever be seen on film together.

This is in reference to the fact that guitarist Eric Melvin served Fat Mike with legal papers requesting financial records to make sure he had been paid appropriately for his work. Or, as Fat Mike puts it in 40 Years, Melvin accused the front man of “skimming millions of dollars from NOFX.”

40 Years, then, does a decent job of reflecting the messy goings-on in this band. The film is not a tell-all, exactly — despite some revealing moments in one of Fat Mike’s BDSM closets and some graphic cell phone footage of the night he almost died — but it is a good summary of much of what they’ve been through together. A lot of which appears to revolve around Fat Mike’s long-documented dependencies on drugs and alcohol. (“They act like they’re worried about my health which is total fucking bullshit,” he says at one point. “They’re worried about their fucking paychecks.”)

The movie is broken down into five broad chapters. The first covers NOFX’s earliest days, slogging it out in a van with small audiences and even smaller financial returns. The second sees the band turning a corner and takes the viewer behind the scenes for the recording of 1994’s Punk in Drublic, the quartet’s breakthrough album. The third documents NOFX’s marriage to a DIY ethos and their reasons for actively swerving major label interest. The fourth is almost entirely about drugs and health problems. The fifth covers NOFX’s emotional final shows. Throughout it all, Fat Mike is portrayed as a savvy businessman, despite his many issues.

If there is a hero of the piece, it turns out to be NOFX drummer, Erik “Smelly” Sandin. His recovery in the band’s early days, from a serious heroin addiction (“a bottomless pit of misery,” he reflects) makes for one of the most engrossing portions of 40 Years. Possibly because of that personal experience, Smelly now seems like the most level-headed person in his band. There is gravitas to his words when he talks of Fat Mike’s predilection for inhaling substances. “When you’re doing drugs, you’re stuffing your internal voices that are telling you you’re not worthy,” he says. “You’re a scared little boy.”

Fat Mike’s own words in 40 Years reflect this at times. “I don’t like performing anymore,” he says, “I don’t want to be the center of attention.” (Which is an odd thing to assert for someone who spends ample time on camera here, indulging in bondage-related situations.) In another interview, the front man reiterates: “I can’t pretend to rock out to these songs I’ve been playing for 40 years unless I’m loaded.” (In the next breath, he refers to NOFX’s stage shows as “absolutely authentic.” Make of that what you will.)

Regardless of the band’s inherent messiness, the sheer number of very famous punk musicians featured in the film reflects the fact that there remains a mountain of goodwill towards everyone in NOFX. Interviewees include members of The Offspring, Descendents, Youth Brigade, Against Me!, The Vandals, Less Than Jake, Bad Religion, Fishbone, RKL, The Exploited, Good Riddance, Bad Cop/Bad Cop, Hi-Standard and Pennywise. (Wil Wheaton also shows up for some reason.)

It’s an inescapable fact that a lot of bands have longterm careers because of Fat Wreck Chords, the San Francisco-based record label that Fat Mike co-founded with his then-wife Erin Burkett back in 1990. The fact that Fat Wreck’s impact doesn’t feature more directly in this documentary is a little confounding. Especially considering that half of NOFX’s back catalog was released through the label.

40 Years is — unsurprisingly for a movie about pop punk — an overwhelmingly male affair. Dance Hall Crashers’ Karina Denike appears only briefly, despite being referred to as “the actual 5th member of NOFX” in the movie’s credits. 40 Years would have benefited greatly from hearing her perspectives on the band, especially as she performed alongside them on their (clearly fraught, at times) final tour.

One of the most remarkable things about 40 Years of Fuckin’ Up is that it is wildly entertaining throughout, whether or not you find Fat Mike profoundly irritating. (This offers a clue to their sustained success.) Whichever way you slice it, NOFX’s history makes for fascinating — and if you’re a DIY musician, educational — viewing.

By the end of the two-hour film, you’ll wonder how this band didn’t slide off the rails and burst into flames many, many years ago. But you’ll also appreciate the fact that they had the good sense to document the bedlam.