‘Freakscene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr.” Review: A Breezy & Lo-Fi Overview Of The Indie-Rock Band

Compelling, breezy, and ultimately a little bit too-surface level, Philipp Reichenheim’s compact documentary “Freakscene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr.” is exactly what the title implies, an overview of the titular indie rock band that saw critical success in the ’80s and ’90s before imploding because of competing egos. Leaning more towards hagiography than tell-all, “Freakscene” does wisely allow the aging rockers — frontman J Mascis, bassist Lou Barlow, and drummer Murph — the time and space to discuss their formation and eventual dissolution, but the film is really framed around their 2005 reunion, which has lead to a seven-show run at the Bowery Ballroom and a steady output of albums including last years “Sweep It Into Space.” 

READ MORE: The 25 Best Music Documentaries Of The 21st Century So Far

As told by the trio, Dinosaur Jr. originally began when J and Lou were in high school in Amherst, MA with their hardcore band Deep Wound. Eventually transitioning out of the punk scene, the two became interested in more psychedelic rock, eventually recruiting their friend Murph to round out the trio. Adopting, and in many ways creating, the grunge aesthetic that took hold in the late ’80s and early ’90s, Dino was initially known for their frantic shows. At one point, Lou admits that their goal was “not to play to the audience” but instead to “assault them” with their music.

As they became friends, and toured with Sonic Youth, they started to reach mainstream success, especially with their second album “You’re Living All Over Me.” But the tension between J and Lou eventually became too much. The two both saw themselves as frontmen, and J eventually kicked Lou out of the band following their third album. After a few middling albums, Murph would eventually leave a few years later. 

Using J’s almost monosyllabic demeanor as a guiding principle, “Freakscene” doesn’t really dive into the clashing egos that created, and eventually destroyed, the band. Reichenheim is more interested in contextualizing Dino alongside the grunge movement, and exploring how the band influenced the likes of Nirvana and others. As such, the film glosses over these fractured moments and, instead, rides the good vibes that the three have rediscovered. As told by friends and family, including Black Francis, Kim Gordon, and Thurston Moore, Dino’s rise and fall is presented through a series of talking heads, live shows, and home videos. In particular, Henry Rollins continually materializes to contextualize and historicize Dino. 

In the end, Reichenheim’s film is perhaps a little too lo-fi, often adopting the home-video aesthetics of Dino’s ’90s music videos onto the wider story of the band’s life — the film is not exactly pretty. But there’s still something to be said for seeing their early performances and transition into the mainstream. The faded videos of them playing on Letterman and hanging with Matt Dillon — who directed the video for their 1992 single “Get Me” — make up for the film’s insular and grainy approach. “Freakscene” might be more ramshackle than probing, but at a lean 82 minutes, it’s also catnip for fans of the band. [B-]