Pavements Review: Alex Ross Perry Both Reinvents and Validates the Rock Documentary

      Note: This review was initially published as part of our 2024 Venice coverage. Pavements is set to hit theaters on May 2.

      If the Hollywood superhero franchise is fading, the expanded universe of Rolling Stone and Spin magazine is rapidly taking shape. What better exemplifies “pre-awareness” for studios than the data collected by Spotify’s algorithm, which uses billions of track plays to validate which past popular music has endured, and also shows how––in the streaming age––one can capitalize on it financially?

      However, unlike the still-impressive Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, which critiqued the nostalgia that such films evoke, recently revitalized by the success of Bohemian Rhapsody, Alex Ross Perry’s Pavements, centered on the iconic ’90s slacker band, argues that every notable band deserves a cinematic tribute that allows us to fondly recollect them while also laughing at the efforts of youthful actors trying to mimic the habits of seasoned, road-weary musicians. Good luck with that, Timothée.

      This brings us to one of Pavements' most intriguing ideas, reflecting a wave of non-conformist creativity reminiscent of the band. Joe Keery, suspiciously resembling a young Tom Cruise from Stranger Things, is tasked with embodying the band’s frontman Stephen Malkmus. How does he eat? Does he carry his worn guitar high or let it hang low? What are the best techniques for method acting to capture his distinctive Northern California vocal style? Keery––along with Perry’s script––frames the young actor's quest to portray the frontman as if he were rehearsing for Hamlet.

      Perry’s film, arguably one of his most polished and comprehensive works, operates in both a past and hypothetical tense. It offers an insightful overview of one of indie music’s most significant figures: in its more standard sections, it visually and critically chronicles their suburban and middle-American upbringings, their entry into “alt” culture as students, and their sometimes affectionate, often tentative engagement with the lucrative 90s music industry. After establishing this foundation, Perry and his quasi-documentary editor Robert Greene (who appears to play a significant collaborative role) create highly inventive fictional segments that, while not entirely plausible, resonate with a convincing, satirical tone just a few steps removed from reality.

      With both the project itself and one of these sequences highlighted in a December 2022 New Yorker article by Holden Seidlitz (who also makes a brief appearance), let’s finally detail what they are. Forgetting their illustrious back catalog and cleverly crafted lyrics, the band’s primary active years spanned the entirety of the 90s; for their future, they will inevitably transform into a heritage act. While another band documentary might depict a Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction as a “real” contemporary scene, Perry introduces a postmodern twist. Range Life, an Oscar-hopeful biopic helmed by one “ARP,” is gearing up for production, prompting marketing meetings at Matador Records (with Tim Heidecker portraying Gerard Cosloy) that feel like high-stakes emergency sessions. Slanted! Enchanted! is scheduled to begin rehearsal Off-Broadway, as American Idiot (and, timely enough, the Sufjan Illinoise musical) appears to set a trend. Directed by someone named Alex Ross Perry, who claims expertise in show tunes, this presents an unexpected opportunity for audiences to hear “Summer Babe” performed in rich, multi-part harmony alongside enthusiastic theater-kid “jazz hands.” However, the show's musical directors sincerely emphasize the songs' complexity and dependence on open tunings, appealing to the “muso” crowd of Pavement fans seeking to distinguish them from other, less specialized indie bands.

      The David Bowie Is exhibition at London’s V&A significantly contributed to solidifying the glam rocker's iconic status in the latter years of his life. Yet it may have established a notion that streams and audiophile vinyl reissues are no longer enough, as ticket sales have begun for the Pavement “museum exhibit,” showcasing crumpled tour set lists and ticket stubs, handwritten lyric sheets drawn from notebooks, and quirky, “faked” memorabilia (e.g., Wowee-Zowee x Absolut Vodka promotions) behind pristine glass displays. We have indeed entered territory akin to “the cane from Citizen Kane,” as referenced in The Simpsons’ parody. Nevertheless, in one of his many astute methods, Perry includes musical performances from the band’s modern heirs (often young and female, in fact), such as Snail Mail and Soccer Mommy, who present beautifully sung covers at the guest-list-only private showing, shifting the tone toward genuine celebration and away from the typical ’90s irony.

      Pavements delivers exactly what it promises, but the experience is far richer. Despite its self-aware genre labels, the film excels as a straightforward rock documentary, a hagiography for fans to revel in