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'Pavements' review: Far more than just a music documentary

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'Pavements' review: Far more than just a music documentary

Pavements – Alex Ross Perry

I’ll start with a disclaimer: before I had settled into my cinema seat at the press screening of Pavements, Alex Ross Perry’s unorthodox new documentary about Pavement, I’d never really listened to their music. Of course, I’d heard a few songs, I’d heard the band name, but I’d never delved deeper. These things often fall into a trap. Who are music documentaries for? Only for the fans? The whole point of Pavements was to avoid that, so I was sent in as a test. 

“For Pavements, I was always trying to not think about the fans because that’s your worst audience,” Alex Ross Perry told Interview. With this new and admittedly odd movie about Pavement, he was doing everything possible not to make a classic fan-focused music documentary because, as a music fan himself, he was sick of it.

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“So few bands want to do anything different now. It’s become so flat and uninteresting. Now it’s all about making a valuable piece of marketing,” he complained, not wanting to chain himself to that narrative. It’s something he’s been trying to avoid doing for a while now. As he’s also been working on a Metallica movie for some time, he’s been thinking this one thought a lot: “I want to make a good movie that grapples with a lot of this and isn’t fan service”.

So given that Pavements is purposefully not fan service, I felt fine to go in blind, to see what I’d learn and simply to find if it holds up as a film for someone outside of the band’s world. In short? It does.

Pavements is odd, really odd. It feels like a music documentary made by Nathan Fielder, as I know that if I had access to my phone, I would have quickly been googling, “Is Pavements real?”, “Was Joe Keery scripted in Pavements?”, “Was the Pavement musical real?” 

Because it’s a wild web and you’re never quite sure what’s real or not. Not only does the movie tick the box of giving a good and thorough overview of Pavement, letting me leave the cinema now knowing a lot about the band, aware of a general timeline of their career, and with an insight into key moments and an understanding of the players, but it’s so much more than that. It feels like a movie, more so than a documentary, so I’ll call it that. The movie centres on these three points, all happening at the same moment; Alex Ross Perry is creating Slanted! Enchanted! A Pavement Jukebox Musical, he’s also cast actors who are preparing for their roles in Range Life, a classic biopic of the band, and Pavement, the actual band, are preparing for their actual reunion tour.

It’s a lot, but it’s brilliant. The moments focused on Range Life are genuinely laugh out loud funny, especially the bits showing Joe Keery’s melodramatic journey to becoming Stephen Malkmus, taking the piss out of method actors. There’s a nod towards Austin Butler’s obsessive Elvis transformation as Keery sits stoicly with an accent coach discussing his desire to get a photo of Malkmus’ tongue and later freaking out when he cant stop doing the slurring Stockton, California accent. It’s moments like these that make Pavements a worthwhile movie, totally independent of the band, because it makes it something way bigger. 

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Obviously, this is a film about Pavement, and it does hinge on real-life footage of the group and always comes back to an investigation into them and their success. But it’s more than that. In fact, I’d say it is a movie about music documentaries as a whole. It’s about music movies, or the way bands’ becomings are mythologised into somewhat of a fictional account, when their art is taken and twisted in that way. That is especially shown in two of the film’s most interesting moments. 

The first is merely a gag. At one point, it breaks apart, pauses to show the ‘For Your Consideration’ banner of the movie as a joke about how the Oscars eat music biopics up, layering these fake clips of the fake film with melodramatic piano music as a piss-take of the genre.

The second is a more nuanced critique. After recounting the moment the band were pelted with mud and rocks during a 1995 Lollapalooza show, the screen splits in two. What the audience hears is the scene in Range Life where the band returns to their dressing room and falls into a dramatic depression, once again with some sad music on top as they launch into a heavy conversation about splitting up. But on the other side of the screen, you can see the real-life band joking around. It’s moments like that where Perry shows his focus, and it’s less on the band and more on making things interesting. 

“The stories you hear, you know they never add up”: These are the words that appear onscreen at the start of the movie, pulled from the band’s track ‘Frontwards’. As someone who didn’t know the band and so didn’t know the song, that lyric merely became a kind of warning-slash-mission statement for the film. It’s as if Perry is using it to comment on the entire genre of music films, or the entire history of how bands are treated, the way their stories naturally become twisted, dramatised and fictionalised to a degree, over time. 

From what I learn from the actual clips of Pavement in the movie, the overwhelming characteristic of the band is just sheer normality. They were a group of utterly normal people just wanting to make music, but found themselves at the centre of a storm of obsession that would never just settle for that. By building such a baffling and interesting nest around them here, bringing in the phoney movie and the wild musical, Perry allows the group to be the most normal part of it. This allows their actual story to be told purely because the entertainment and the drama are elsewhere. Not only is it somewhat genius, it’s also just a lot of fun—even if you’re not a fan.

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‘Black Rabbit, White Rabbit’ Review: Disqualified for the Oscars, Tajikistan Drama Is an Inviting, Meandering Meta-Narrative

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‘Black Rabbit, White Rabbit’ Review: Disqualified for the Oscars, Tajikistan Drama Is an Inviting, Meandering Meta-Narrative

Selected by Tajikistan but ultimately not accepted by the Academy to compete in the Oscar international feature category, “Black Rabbit, White Rabbit” begins ambitiously, with a famous quote from playwright Anton Chekhov about setups and payoffs — about how if a gun is established in a story, it must go off. Moments later, an inviting long take involving a young man selling an antique rifle ends in farcical tragedy, signaling an equally farcical series of events that grow stranger and stranger. The film, by Iranian director Shahram Mokri, folds in on itself in intriguing (albeit protracted) ways, warping its meta-fictional boundaries until they supersede its characters, or any underlying meaning.

Still, it’s a not-altogether-uninteresting exercise in exploring the contours of storytelling, told through numerous thematically interconnected vignettes. The opening Chekhov quote, though it might draw one’s attention to minor details that end up insignificant, ensures a heightened awareness of the movie’s artifice, until the film eventually pulls back and becomes a tale of its own making. But en route to this semi-successful postmodern flourish, its character drama is enticing enough on its own, with hints of magical realism. It begins with the tale of a badly injured upper-class woman, Sara (Hasti Mohammai), discovering that her car accident has left her with the ability to communicate with household objects.

Sara’s bandages need changing, and the stench of her ointment becomes a quick window into her relationships. Her distant husband rejects her; her boisterous stepdaughter is more frank, but ultimately accepting; her gardener and handyman stays as diplomatic as he can. However, the film soon turns the gunfire payoff in its prologue into a broader setup of its own, as a delivery man shows up at Sara’s gate, insisting that she accept delivery for an object “the deceased man” has paid for.

Mokri eventually returns to this story (through a slightly tilt-shifted lens), but not before swerving headfirst into a seemingly unrelated saga of extras on a film set and a superstitious prop master, Babak (Babak Karimi), working on a shot-for-shot remake of an Iranian classic. A mix of rapid-fire Tajik, Persian and Russian dialogue creates dilemma upon dilemma when Babak’s ID goes missing, preventing him from being able to thoroughly check the prop ammunition for an assassination scene.

Danger begins to loom — a recent Alec Baldwin case even warrants a mention on-screen — as the notion of faulty firearms yanks Chekhov’s wisdom front and center once more, transforming it from a writing tip into a phantasmagorical inevitability. In keeping with the previous story, the props even communicate with each other (through subtitles) and begin gossiping about what might come to pass.

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After establishing these narrative parameters through unbroken, fluid shots filmed at a sardonic distance, Mokri soon begins playing mischievous temporal games. He finds worthwhile excuses to revisit scenes from either different angles or with a slightly altered aesthetic approach — with more proximity and intimacy — in order to highlight new elements of his mise-en-scène. What’s “real” and “fictional,” even within the movie’s visual parlance, begins to blur in surreal ways, largely pivoting around Babak simply trying to do his job. However, the more this tale engorges through melodic, snaking takes, the more it circles around a central point, rather than approaching it.

The film’s own expanse becomes philosophically limiting, even though it remains an object of curiosity. When it’s all said and done, the playfulness on display in “Black Rabbit, White Rabbit” is quite remarkable, even if the story’s contorting framework seldom amounts to much, beyond drawing attention to itself. It’s cinema about cinema in a manner that, on one hand, lives on the surface, but on the other hand, invites you to explore its texture in ways few other movies do.

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‘Christmas Karma’ movie review: A Bollywood Carol with little cheer

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‘Christmas Karma’ movie review: A Bollywood Carol with little cheer

Kunal Nayyar in ‘Christmas Karma’
| Photo Credit: True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

Christmas jumpers are all I can remember of this film. As this reimagining of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol dragged on with sickly-sweet sentimentality and song, my eyes constantly tried to work out whether those snowflakes and reindeer were printed on the jerseys or, if knitted, how complicated the patterns would have been.

Christmas Karma (English)

Director: Gurinder Chadha

Starring: Kunal Nayyar, Leo Suter, Charithra Chandran, Pixie Lott, Danny Dyer, Boy George, Hugh Bonneville, Billy Porter, Eva Longoria, Mia Lomer

Storyline: A miserly businessman learns the true meaning of Christmas when visited by ghosts of Christmas past, present and future

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Runtime: 114 minutes

Gurinder Chadha, who gave us the gorgeous Bend it Like Beckham (who wants to make aloo gobi when you can bend the ball like Beckham indeed) has served up an unappetising Bollywood song-and-dance version of Dickens’ famous Christmas story.

A still from the film

A still from the film
| Photo Credit:
True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

A curmudgeonly Indian businessman, Ishaan Sood (Kunal Nayyar), fires his entire staff on Christmas Eve—except his accountant, Bob (Leo Suter)—after catching them partying at the office. Sood’s nephew, Raj (Shubham Saraf) invites him for a Christmas party which he refuses to attend.

He returns home after yelling at some carol singers for making a noise, the shopkeeper (Nitin Ganatra) at the corner for his business decisions and a cabbie (Danny Dyer) for being too cheerful.

His cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Joshi (Shobu Kapoor) tells him to enjoy his dinner in the dark as he has not paid for heat or electricity. He is visited by the spirit of his dead business partner, Marley (Hugh Bonneville), who is in chains with the spirits of all the people he wronged. Marley’s spirit tells Sood that he will be visited by three spirits who will reveal important life lessons.

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A still from the film

A still from the film
| Photo Credit:
True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

The Ghost of Christmas Past (Eva Longoria), with Day of the Dead makeup and three mariachis providing musical accompaniment, shows Sood his early, happy days in Uganda as a child and the trauma of being expelled from the country by Idi Amin.

Sood comes to Britain where his father dies of heartbreak and decides the only way out is to earn a lot of money. He meets and falls in love with Bea (Charithra Chandran) but loses her when he chooses paisa over pyaar even though he tries to tell her he is being ruthless only to earn enough to keep her in luxury.

The Ghost of Christmas Present (Billy Porter) shows Bob’s twee house full of Christmas cheer, despite the roast chicken past its sell-by date, and his young son, Tim, bravely smiling despite his illness.

The Ghost of Christmas Future (Boy George, Karma is sure a chameleon!) shows Sood dying alone except for Bob and Mrs. Joshi. He sees the error of his ways and throws much money around as he makes everything alright. He even ends up meeting up with his childhood friend in Uganda.

Apart from the mixed messages (money makes everything alright, let us pray for the NHS but go to Switzerland to get well) and schmaltzy songs, Christmas Karma suffers from weak writing and wooden acting.

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Priyanka Chopra’s Hindi rendition of George Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’ runs over the end credits featuring Chadha and the crew, bringing back fond memories of Bina Mistry’s ‘Hot Hot Hot’ from Bend it Like Beckham. Even a sitar version by Anoushka Shankar is to no avail as watching this version of A Christmas Carol ensures bad karma in spades.

Christmas Karma is currently running in theatres

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Dust Bunny

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Dust Bunny

An orphaned girl hires her hitman next-door neighbor to kill the monster under her bed. This R-rated action/horror movie mashup has lots of violence but surprisingly little gore. However, there are still many gruesome moments, even if they’re just offscreen. And some language and a strange portrayal of Christian worship come up, too.

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