Paradise Records is of a lost artifact type, when punky, punchy storytelling was the rage. It's tone more flaccid in spaces, its pace bogged, trips on jokes better off left on the cutting room floor, yet the heart is there and the ride lively.
In another life, this reviewer would've been a cool DVD store employee laying the lowdown on the hottest films, so trust me when I say I do understand the fantasy of the bygone and analog era. That age of easy breezy, no care in the world-ey business owners is attractive, and Paradise Records offers up a bite of it I might've enjoyed more if I were a stoner (sidebar: weed heads are gonna eat this movie up with fries and a side of ranch).
The employees of Paradise Records are hustling and bustling on oregano highs and music opinions as owner Cooper tries his best to keep the shop from going under. Already in the red, not helped by the bank not loaning, or vultures circling to buy the property, then the robbery only makes it worse. It's a hangout vibe that's a little in the vein of Go, drawn in the style of a movie like Clerks (in more ways than one, you'll see).
Paradise Records has future cult classic written all over it, in that it's not something the mainstream will gravitate to but niche subsections are gonna love to pieces. It's directed by Logic, and it shows, in the best and worst ways it could. The multi hyphenate artist brings a very rhythmic musicality to his directorial debut: in needledrops galore, the sweat soaked camera, cameos per minute: Oliver Tree! Ron Pearlman! Joseph Gordon Levitt! More that I won't spoil! It even ends with blooper credits, a key staple of beloved genre comedies. Because in a similar respect to 2023’s Bottoms, Paradise Records is of a lost artifact type, when punky, punchy storytelling was the rage. Its tone more flaccid in spaces, its pace bogged, trips on jokes better off left on the cutting room floor, yet the heart is there and the ride lively.
Logic has also got a lot more acting skills up his sleeve than a guy with only one other narrative credit to his name would imply. As Cooper, the rapper plays on close variations on himself but he scratches the vinyl with a surprising range of emotions; anxiety chases after the character, the straight man to a ton of high octane situations. When shit hits the fan, he makes you feel the pressure dancing on your skull with a harsh vulnerability. It's a quite a great cast overall, Tramayane Hudson starring opposite in a riotous supporting performance, a standout in a cast that all really get to slack off in pitch perfect tenors—Reed Northrup brilliantly cringe while Wes Andersen alum Tony Revolvri has a blast as the constantly on a wild trip Slaybro.
Cinematically, Robert Bryson Hall II’s debut feels like a labor of love from everyone involved, from the direction, to the acting, to the edit by Kevin Smith himself in what reads as a baton passing one generation’s layabouts to the next. I think I’m caught up on the little inconsistencies that litter it—that everything works out so hunky dory, that you can see Logic’s puppetry in maneuvering things where they need to go. The storytelling is sloppily put together, it priorities style, and it's not to my tastes, tonally, but I'm open and objective enough to understand that doesn't make it an uninteresting ride for those keyed in its wavelength. I know it: when Paradise Records finds its people, they’ll embrace it. Wholeheartedly.
@obscurae