Directed by Florian Habicht
UK, 2014
Perhaps the new documentary Pulp: a Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets is best summed up by Pulp’s frontman, Jarvis Cocker: “Life is a random process, but you can add narrative to it.” Director Florian Habicht tries to impose a narrative upon his mishmash of concert footage, band interviews, and fan testimonials, but it never coalesces. Ultimately, some top-notch concert cinematography, a few intriguing visuals, and Cocker’s delightful cheekiness make this a must-see for Pulp fans, and a must-skip for general audiences.
Sometimes, you can go home again. After taking an impromptu nine-year hiatus in the 2000s, the seminal alt-rock band Pulp re-assembled in 2011 to “tidy things up.” The ensuing European tour culminates with one last electrifying performance in the band’s hometown of Sheffield. Interviews with band members make it clear that, despite leaving years ago for the allure of fame and fortune, they still feel the tug of this working class village. As one townie lovingly describes it, “Sheffield is the kind of place where you know the person mugging you.”
Pulp is at its strongest when it stays focused on the band’s dynamic stage presence. It’s impossible not to get swept up in the eccentric energy of frontman Jarvis Cocker. He flails around on the stage like an irony-infused Mick Jagger, using his body as both confessional and strip club. The concert scenes are beautifully photographed by Maria Ines Manchego. It’s all very sweaty and atmospheric, with enough immediacy to make your ears ring. Multiple camera angles, both from the stage and from the crowd, wonderfully convey the unparalleled excitement of losing yourself at a good old-fashioned rock-n-roll show.
When the action leaves the stage, however, things quickly fall apart. Using the Pulp staple “Common People,” director Habicht tries to draw a parallel between the down-to-earth folks of Sheffield and the band members. His attempts are mostly clunky and unsuccessful, though he does have a wonderful eye for odd visual juxtapositions. Watching a group of synchronized swimmers or a local dance ensemble boogie down to “Disco 2000”, for instance, is a sublime pleasure. Another highlight features a group of seemingly disinterested geriatrics singing along to “Help the Aged” in a lonely diner. Had Pulp included more of these comedic non-sequiturs, they might have perfectly complemented the inspired stage performances. Instead, we get endless gushing from fans and fellow musicians that contributes nothing to the underlying “Common People” theme.
Not surprisingly, most of the attention, both onstage and off, focuses squarely on Cocker. Bandmates Mark Webber, Steve Mackey, Nick Banks and Candida Doyle get a cursory glance, but we learn nothing of substance about them. While Pulp makes an abbreviated attempt to understand Cocker’s creative process, it looks pedestrian when compared to 2014’s earlier tour de force, 20,000 Days on Earth, which seamlessly blended Nick Cave’s stage persona and artistic inspirations. Learning that Cocker started a band so girls would talk to him is neither illuminating nor interesting. Perhaps learning more about Cocker’s inspirations would make the Sheffield connection ring much truer.
The undeniable intensity of Pulp’s final performance illustrates the obvious truth that neither Cocker nor the filmmakers could accept: this should have been a concert film. Though Habicht is to be commended for trying to add more substance to the festivities, his unsuccessful efforts only detract from the heart and soul of the film. No matter how many fans line up to profess their love, nothing comes close to the raw intimacy of Cocker’s performance on “This Is Hardcore.” Sometimes you just have to let the music do the talking.
Pulp: a Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets captures the final days of an important rock band that left on its own terms. Longtime fans will love this glimpse into the world of their musical heroes. Those unfamiliar with Pulp, however, won’t find enough music or artistic insight to spark their curiosity.
— J.R. Kinnard