The makers of Heavy Metal in Baghdad, Eddy Moretti and Suroosh Alvi of VICE, mistakenly think of themselves as the stars of this otherwise remarkable documentary. More specifically they think narrator Alvi is the star, which is at times a painfully self-aware shame. Thankfully the material soars above the sardonic hipster delivery (which works so well in print) of his narration and pieces to camera, but not without veering uncomfortably close to adventure tourism and the outright exploitation of its subjects, Iraq’s only metal band, Acrassicauda. They lived through a war, so too can they can survive the often ham-fisted, Gonzoisms of VICE.

Acrassicauda were first discovered by then MTV News journalist Gideon Yago, whose resulting profile No War For Heavy Metal was run by VICE in 2004. Alvi and Moretti then pick up the band’s story in the aftermath of the fall of Baghdad. Growing up on a diet of all and any Slayer and Metallica videos they could get their hands on, the band members speak in peculiarly-accented English (a dangerous thing to be seen doing on Baghdad’s streets) about the realities of life in a war zone. There doesn’t come a subculture much more maligned than metal fans in Iraq, where wearing your hair long with an Iron Maiden t-shirt will have you branded a Satanist, or worse. Acrassicauda’s determination to keep their band together, even when that meant having to cross checkpoints to get to their rehearsal space where they then played for up to 21 hours at a stretch out of pure joy, is the set up for the story arc of the film: the band just want to play a gig for their city’s starved metal fans and perhaps fulfill their even bigger dream of recording an album.

When the filmmakers then periodically revisit the band—vocalist Faisal Talal, uber-talented guitarist Tony Aziz, articulate bassist and new father Firas Al-Lateef and effusively enthusiastic drummer Marwan Riyak —we find the fall of Baghdad has wrought the lawlessness and daily, mortal danger so familiar now, but in the early days Acrassicauda are as hopeful as anyone that Saddam’s removal will mean a more secure future for them and their families. In short order the band find themselves refugees in Syria, where 1.2 million other Iraqi’s have fled, most there living in abject poverty. This is where Heavy Metal in Baghdad succeeds so spectacularly in bringing these realities to an audience who consumed their war coverage care of embedded journalists, many of whom often — as the film reveals — were never able to leave the hotels from which they “reported”, and instead recorded their voiceovers on top of footage captured by local camera crews.

The admirable intentions of this film and the maker’s clear and genuine affections for the band are done a great disservice by some flagrantly unnecessary forays into danger, such as convening a meeting out in open space in broad daylight for no reason other than to prove how dangerous this is for everyone — the crew, the band, the journalists and the security guards in their 30-odd person entourage. Similar stunts worked great previously in the VICE Guide to Travel DVD series of documentary shorts, but here makes for a truly excruciating viewing experience, with one of the guys from the band repeating, “Can we go now? I would like to go now.” As uncomfortable as this strange chest-beating was to watch, it was nothing on how exploitative the scene in which the band are shown a rough cut of the film was. Clearly devastated to relive the previous years of carnage and displacement so vividly, the band are furious and heartbroken to watch their bombed-out home city on-screen from inside the windowless basement in Syria which is now their home. The feeling that the filmmakers have failed in their duty of care for their subject at this point is palpable.

The VICE doctrine of “immersionism” as pioneered by their photojournalism magazine coverage, works so well with the buffer of print to protect the subject – even if only a little. It is far more problematic when put into practice on film. This kind of filmmaking goes beyond the straight reportage of documentary, because the very nature of the producers’ involvement with the band actively shapes and changes their story. And for all the time spent with Acrassicauda, to the point where VICE gets them into the studio to record some demos, knowing that everyone went home to their apartments in Brooklyn the next day while Acrassicauda went back to living in a basement, left me feeling equal parts hopeless and upbeat. Hopeless in that nothing has really been done for them to change their lives on a day to day basis; upbeat because they’d be doing what they are regardless of it or not a film crew from New York was there to capture it.

The personal triumphs for Acrassicauda are many, and the footage of their hard-fought for gigs played before adoring young metalheads are brief but glorious, if shakily captured. But it doesn’t dampen the enthusiasm, or the bravery of the band and their fans fighting tooth and nail for something we all take for granted every day: to be able to see a rock and roll show. Why do they keep playing, is question that keeps coming back to the band. “Because it’s metal, dude. Fucking metal,” Firas says. And it is. There is nothing more metal than playing for your life.

Heavy Metal In Baghdad is set for theatrical release later in the year.