Musical biopics like Bohemian Rhapsody or Bob Marley: One Love are heavily filtered by their subjects’ estates, and the entire culture of music documentaries is dependent on the most surface-level examination of deeper issues. While there have been notable attempts at subversion, they either take the form of outright parodies or legitimate projects dedicated to artists whose work never had any serious consequences. It’s an understanding of these incongruous factors that has made Alex Ross Perry’s playfully subversive satire Pavements so refreshing. The film exists within an alternate reality in which an indie band from the 1990s had the same cultural staying power as The Beatles or The Who.
Pavement was likely a favorite of fans that hung out in High Fidelity, but the band only attained mainstream attention in the mid-1990s when “Cut Your Hair” was a breakout single. Despite frequently being praised for their nuanced lyrics, lo-fi atmosphere, and inventive blend of post-punk defiance with the tenacity of late-1980s grunge, Pavement had to settle for cult status after vocalist Stephen Malkmus left the group following a London performance in 1999. It’s a testament to the performative style of Pavement that a majority of fans were unclear whether there was an actual feud, or if the breakup was the result of an extended work of performance art.
An attack on musician biopics in the form of a straight-up spoof (such as the infamous Walk the Line parody Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story) would never have fit the style of Pavement, as to choose one point of comparison would pigeonhole the band into just one subgenre. It would also discredit the artistry of Pavement, which has a fairly extensive catalog of outstanding records. In order to pay its dues and have fun along the way, Perry’s film instead consists of multiple threads that can be interpreted as either calculated brilliance or sporadic sarcasm.
Included with Pavement is a legitimate documentary, in which Malkmus is joined by band members Bob Nastanovich, Scott Kannberg, Steve West, and Mark Ibold in a series of interviews that provide a few genuine insights on how the group defied expectations of “protest bands” through complete indifference towards any specific causes; the feigned disinterest that each of the bandmates show in Perry’s line of questioning is precisely the point. However, this is complicated by the inclusion of a quasi-mockumentary segment, in which the band’s debut album Slanted & Enchanted is transferred into a jukebox musical. Perry has also incorporated an amusing series of anecdotes based on his experiences at a museum exhibit filled with Pavement memorabilia, a majority of which is irrelevant to an absurd degree.
The most conscious effort that Pavements has made to poke fun at Hollywood is the inclusion of a faux-A Complete Unknown style biopic in which the members of Pavement are portrayed by notable actors, including Stranger Things star Joe Keery as Malkmus. The intent is to lampoon the imposed meaning that many of these films take on, exemplified by a particularly amusing moment with Chris Lombardi (portrayed by Jason Schwartzman in a terrific cameo) is allowed the chance to tell Malkmus that he shouldn’t be so reticent to embrace fame. This incident is only off-handedly referenced in the legitimate interviews. Perry’s assessment is that audiences tend to enjoy the constructed narrative far more than the truth, as reality is harder to condense into a three-act structure. Yet, none of these divergent segments is devoid of impressive performances; standouts include Michael Esper as a dedicated theater actor and Griffin Newman’s muted impersonation of Steve West.
The comparisons between Pavement’s artistry and Perry’s eclectic infusion of different genres didn’t necessarily begin with Pavement; previous Perry films, such as Her Smell and Listen Up Philip, offered stern lessons on why the canonization of artistic geniuses is too frequently made with haste. Pavements isn’t nearly as caustic as his previous efforts, but Perry does transform the film into a puzzle box, in which a viewer is challenged to determine what exactly they should be taking seriously.
Although it’s layered with references that only dedicated Pavement fans could pick up on, the film doesn’t exist solely as an in-joke for the faithful. Familiarity with the nature of Hollywood filmmaking, performance art, or the general trajectory of American indie music in the 21st century is enough for Pavements to reach a broad enough audience. Even if the final appearance of the band on stage for their reunion tour may only land with the maximum emotional impact for those that have followed the group since their inception, Pavements is neither a declarative thesis or a cryptic MacGuffin. Experimentation is often done for its own sake, and Pavements is best enjoyed as a sincere exploration on the degree to which meta comedy can sustain itself.