Pavements

“The World’s Most Important and Influential Band” is the very first descriptor used in Alex Ross Perry’s explosive cinematic profile of ‘90s slacker rock icons Pavement. To any viewer who isn’t familiar with the humor of Pavement, that’s a pretty odd and narcissistic description. How could a music act with only a few hits be the world’s most important and influential band when the world also contains The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Fleetwood Mac? But showing that the band never truly cared about being chart-toppers, critically acclaimed, or anything other than what the band wanted to be in that moment is the purpose of Perry’s documentary. And while Pavements won’t be the world’s most influential music documentary, it certainly makes a case for what should be the most important one. 

You see, almost every music documentary for the past decade has fallen into two categories: a puff piece profile of a currently popular artist as they overcome hardships, contribute to the greater good, and conveniently make the new music they have to promote or a profile of an iconic, long-gone band that details their rise and fall, how they became legendary, and what led to the inevitable breakup or tragic death of a member. Pavements is more than aware of this trend. Alex Ross Perry is also more than aware you can’t exactly do that with Pavement, a band that never truly had enough drama to be dramatized and never cared enough about anything to have a coherent narrative of their heyday. 

With all of this in mind, it’s hard to imagine what Pavements could possibly be like as a documentary. How do you make a documentary of a band that seems like they actively do not want a documentary to be made about them? Well, you make the anti-documentary. To Alex Ross Perry, this looks like part modern footage of the band reuniting for their comeback tour, part fast-paced, superimposed archival footage that the band comments on, part narrative about the creation of an absurdist Pavement jukebox musical (Slanted! Enchanted!), and part mockumentary about the making of a terrible, completely false Pavement biopic that features Joe Keery as lead singer Stephen Malkmus. 

What makes Pavements possibly the most important music documentary in recent memory is its rejection of tired trends in favor of gleefully staying weird. The only band drama that’s ever brought up is when their original drummer has to leave the band, which is appropriately allotted about 2 minutes. The topic of the band breakup is even brushed aside by Malkmus, who chooses to say it was because of dumb interview questions like the one he had just been asked. 

The documentary’s tagline, taken from a lyric in “Shady Lane”—“You’ve been chosen as an extra in the movie adaptation of the sequel to your life”—is a perfect summary of what the film is doing as a whole. While it certainly revolves around Pavement, Pavements is ultimately a piece about the power of music in individual lives. The film features a museum exhibition that is a product of extreme fanaticism, from the clothing the band was wearing during the infamous muddy Lollapalooza performance or the drummer’s toenail. The band gets to walk through the museum and rediscover things that they had long forgotten due to their playful carelessness, but were long cherished by the fans that held onto them. 

The musical portion of the film is another ode to obsessive fandom. After all, it’s easy to laugh at the silliness of reimagining indie-rock songs into musical theater, complete with elaborate lyrical dances, but the musical only exists because of the passion of the people involved. They all chose this project out of a deep love for Pavement and a continuous desire to be part of something that relates to music they found so important.

If the musical segment is sincere yet hilarious, the biopic segment is diametrically opposed: utterly insincere, whilst arguably being the funniest part of the film. When Joe Keery is asked why he took the role as Malkmus, he shrugs it off, stating that he just wanted to win an award. When Keery or Nat Wolff give overdramatic, less-than-great performances in the scenes from Range Life (which, despite the staged premiere within the documentary, is not a real biopic), they’re met with massive “FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION” banners. A fake article proclaims Joe Keery is finally winning an Oscar for his role in Range Life, while a quote from Malkmus asks why he even agreed to being the figure of a biopic when there’s “never been a good one”. 

In fact, this is the backbone of Perry’s argument. In one scene, a split-screen compares Range Life’s fictionalised version of the Lollapalooza mud incident, wherein their manager (Jason Schwartzman) dramatically scolds the band for having potentially just lost their career while archival footage of the real band reveals the band laughing it off. In doing so, Perry is making a pointed dig at films like Bohemian Rhapsody, demonstrating that there’s no true passion behind these movies. They’re just calculated moves to garner more awards come Oscar season. But no amount of Hollywood polish can replicate the authenticity that comes with genuine love for the subject.

The funniest bit of satire on this part comes from Keery becoming obsessed with being Stephen Malkmus in a parody of Austin Butler. He watches the interviews videos of Malkmus being shown as part of the documentary and recites them, copying his mannerisms and demanding to be introduced as Stephen to the rest of the cast members. Keery works with a vocal coach to properly understand Malkmus’ vocal fry, which he can only truly figure out after he obtains a picture of Stephen’s throat. When the vocal coach states that he is starting to sound a bit too much like Malkmus in his everyday life, Keery questions his choice for a minute but still remains up for the role. It’s a remarkably funny performance from Keery, who understands that in a documentary you don’t have to ham the role up. He instead attempts this parody with a natural attitude that almost feels more resemblant of Malkmus’ than what he’s doing for Range Life. 

Whilst the actual documentary portion may seem like the least interesting thing that Perry is doing in his collage of Pavement and at times can feel a tad overlong, it is still entirely engaging and creative as hell. You’re never left watching stale footage of the boys in the past or in the present; instead, he uses sharp editing and trippy filters to cultivate an odd vibe. Clips of the band playing are rapidly match cut with the biopic band miming their way through the songs or the musical theatre cast performing stripped-down versions of the songs. The footage of the band chosen isn’t to show their story, which Perry is pretty unfocused with telling linearly, but to capture Malkmus’s cool nonchalance. 

Truly, Pavement never cared about winning awards, having commercial and critical success, or appeasing their label. They cared about making the music that appealed to them. Similarly, Pavements as a film never cares about being a commercial music documentary or a potential awards hit. It cares about simultaneously being a piece of sardonic art and an extensive if exhausting tribute to the kings of slacker rock.

So, while Pavements isn’t going to be the next documentary to take off for its insider drama and is certainly too absurdist to reach the mainstream, it is a necessary piece of cinema in a landscape that wants to destroy the single thing Pavements is celebrating. Making the next Range Life-level creatively bankrupt biopic will be easy (Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, anyone?), but finding another Pavement? Impossible. Alex Ross Perry argues that the magic of Pavement is how little they cared about being anything other than passionate about their art. It is the tongue-in-cheek creativity of the band that has led them to become figures that Greta Gerwig references in adoration, that can inspire an entire (bizarre) museum, and that can become the soundtrack of an absurdly beloved musical. There will never be another Pavement, and in this current landscape for cinema, there will never be a documentary as smart, funny, or creative as Pavements. 

Long live the slackers.

8.5/10