"Selling out" is a phrase whose significance depends on the decade into which you were born. Thirty years ago, when Nirvana broke down the barriers between the mainstream and the underground, the stigma of selling out - at least among certain groups and certain fans - was severe. The decision to sign with a major label broke up bands, split scenes and made a handful of people very, very rich.
To those who came of age during a great recession, a Trump presidency or a pandemic, selling out is as operative a concept as an eight-track tape. At a time when Metallica is cozying up with Mercedes-Benz and Megan Thee Stallion is collaborating with Popeyes on her signature brand of Hottie Sauce, the notion of a band pledging to stay indie forever seems prudishly strange, like a TikTok video of a pilgrim churning butter.
Art of a Hit opens as the last great wave of major-label acquisitions - the twilight era of the sellouts is coming to a close. In the movie's first scene, Excelsus (the film's fictitious late 90's alt-rock band) steps onto the sound stage at a major music awards show, unknowingly part of the final moment in modern alternative music history - a last moment when the shifting sands of alternative rock still held the possible for independent musicians to not only make their band their life, but their livelihood as well.
It isn't exactly a spoiler to say that, like so many other bands of that era, the success that Excelsus experienced during the first few moments of the film ends up being fleeting. Or that their effort to recapture that success a decade later when the ethos against selling out had all but been forgotten, proved nearly impossible.
Over the course of the next 90 minutes, and through beautifully shot and often intense scenes, the film follows the band as they try to record a follow up album with a storied producer in an equally storied studio in France. At the intersection of indie rock and commerce is a great deal of denial, useful self-deception on both sides. The artists maintain they'll stay true to their roots, meaning they'll never change - which is a strange relationship for an artist to have with their art. The labels and producers, meanwhile, convince themselves they can bend the bands to their will and make hits - a strange relationship to have with an artist you're pursuing for their art. These incompatible positions drive much of the conflict in 'Art of a Hit' as the bands lead singer (played by Ryan Donowho) squares off against the producer (Charlie Saxton) and then his band, and eventually against himself.
Part of the movie's appeal lies in rooting for the band to beat the odds - even when you know they won't. As Donowho's character descends into madness, the story becomes a cautionary tale about the impossibility of trying to maintain artistic integrity in a time now where that no longer matters.
Of course, there are plenty of indie artists who have never sold out and never will, but the creative team behind this movie seem to be suggesting that an artist holding a label at arm's length is like an alcoholic telling themselves they'll have just one more. No band ever thinks they're ever going to sell out, until, one day, they do.
To a child of the 90s like me, the "sellout" label still carries the stench of shame. It was a lot easier to swear allegiance to an indie artist when a commercial path to success didn't exist. Time marches on, and while hearing your favorite indie rock song during a Taco Bell commercial may be easier to swallow when you're considering your kid's college tuition, it still hurts.
One other thing to note: Though marketed somewhat like a horror movie, the film is not explicitly horrific, instead favoring subtlety. It's really a movie about the artistic process and the madness that comes with engaging in this process in an increasingly meaningless world. The music (covers of Jets to Brazil songs) is excellent, which should be expected given the film's theme. And punctuating many of the film's more intense scenes are surprisingly funny moments too.
