7 hours ago
5
If ever a film-maker and a band were a match in indie heaven it is lo-fi writer-director Alex Ross Perry and 90s band Pavement, from Stockton, California (described here as “the Cleveland of California”); the latter made critically adored albums throughout the 1990s with comparisons to the Fall and Lou Reed, while never signing to a major label. Now Perry has made a film about Pavement and it seems to be his intention here to avoid, strenuously and at all costs, obviousness – and perhaps the most clunkingly obvious thing for any newbie to ask about is the name. Pavement as opposed to Sidewalk because of a Brit affectation? No: just a functional name chosen almost at random and one that sounded right.
Intriguingly, but finally a bit frustratingly, Perry is running four ideas at once, a kind of cine-quadriptych with the plurality signalled by the title. Firstly, it’s a documentary about Pavement’s return to live performance in 2022, complete with milky, blurry analogue video flashbacks to their 90s heyday. Secondly, an account of a touring museum exhibition about the band. Thirdly: a study of a jukebox musical project about Pavement called Slanted! Enchanted! after one of their albums, which had a three-day off-Broadway workshop presentation. And finally, a conventional fictional dramatisation of the band’s history, entitled Range Life, of which we see a few clips, with Joe Keery as lead singer Stephen Malkmus, Nat Wolff as guitarist Scott Kannberg, Fred Hechinger as singer Bob Nastanovich and Jason Schwartzman as Matador Records chief Chris Lombardi. But it isn’t entirely clear whether Range Life really exists as a standalone film, or how to judge or imagine its independent existence. We get a scene showing the actors doing an onstage Q&A after a screening, and it doesn’t look like a fictional spoof.
In the end, I wanted to see just one of these strands developed to feature length, perhaps especially the hilarious-sounding stage musical idea with Pavement tracks reinvented as showtune zingers. As it stands, Pavements doesn’t have the clarity and punch of, say, Ondi Timoner’s psych-rock documentary Dig!, or the dramatic cogency of Perry’s recent 90s rock drama Her Smell. It is a palimpsest of approaches: four concepts placed on top of each other, but none can be seen clearly. For me, Perry’s masterpiece is still his 2015 drama Listen Up Philip. But this film might well provide something for the Pavement fanbase.
