Joyce Glasser reviews Hello, Bookstore (June 30, 2023) Cert PG, 86 mins. In cinemas and on demand.
For those whose relationship with books is a click on Amazon, or whose cosy libraries have been closed, or who never go into shops to browse, Hello, Bookstore (which is how sole proprietor Matthew Tannenbaum answers the phone) is an immersive cinematic experience. But A.B. Zax’s grand design is to highlight the symbiosis between a High Street bookstore and the community it serves.
We are in the lockdown phase of the pandemic in the small town of Lenox, Massachusetts. Covid-masked proprietor Matt is standing behind the glass shopfront shouting apologetically to those outside, ‘curb side orders only, no browsing,’ while answering the phone inside. At one point he cannot remember if he’s left anyone holding on the phone as he deposits an order on the outdoor bench while asking the customer to step back to avoid contact.
The bar (you will hear the touching background story of the bar’s namesake) and the gallery (which we do not hear much about) are closed. There are no evening book launches or poetry readings, shutting off a further source of revenue. At the end of the pandemic Matt is facing foreclosure after buying the shop in 1976 when he was turning 30. We hear that story, too.
Most of the film follows this gregarious, passionate booklover with a tuft of grey, curly hair and a big jumper through a typical day when he comes into his element. His “element” is instantly obvious: helping customers choose books, reading a few lines out loud for the sheer pleasure of hearing the words, reminiscing about the shop’s early days or people no longer around, or browsing through his shelves commenting on the old and new titles he encounters. T Matt is not an antiquarian bookseller but sells a mix of classics, little known titles and best sellers. Female authors seem to be in abundance, but there is something for everyone.
Matt’s enthusiasm is not a sales technique, but it is contagious. When dashing across the store to grab one favourite book for a regular he enthuses, ‘my bookmark never stood a chance.’ Unfortunately we don’t hear the name of the book – but the customer grabs it and adds it to the pile in her arms.
Zax recreates the browsing experience for viewers. The camera pans the displays and shelves to an eclectic score, revealing colourful book jackets and familiar and unfamiliar titles. The Dutch House by Ann Patchett, Tracy Chevalier’s, A Single Thread, Zadie Smith’s, Grand Union, The Life of Saul Bellow by Zachary Leader, The Politics of Pain by Fintan O’Toole, The Souls of Black Folks by W.E.B. DuBois and Allen Ginsburg’s Howl. At one point Matt rearranges a display case as much to highlight the coordination of the book jackets as to suggest a dialogue amongst the books sharing the table.
If you have time for a chat, you might get a quick anecdote about the fated acquisition autobiographical novel, By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. Or perhaps a reading from Travel by Edna St Vincent Millay or the haunting last verses of Billy Collins’, On Turning Ten, a poem about youth looking with trepidation at adulthood, and adults looking back on childhood for respite:
‘It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.’
In between these excerpts from and reflections on books, we hear (although the masks and sound quality can make it challenging), other anecdotes elucidating the life of a bookstore owner. We hear about the tragic premature death of Matt’s wife that left him bereft but with two small daughters to bring up while running the shop. The girls grew up around books in the bookstore and now help out if needed.
A previous encounter with Rimbaud enthusiast Patti Smith is illustrated by a framed page. A compliment from Tom Stoppard, who happened to stop by, was returned by the offer of a gift: Matt’s memoir, My Years at the Gotham Book Mart with Frances Steloff Proprietor. Steloff was 84 when Matthew went to work at the famous Gotham bookstore and wasn’t the owner anymore, but still went into the store.
This world famous bookstore that closed in 2007 (the stock was donated to the University of Pennsylvania Library) was Matt’s immersive training ground. If his bookstore could never be the avant-garde literary salon that was Steloff’s Manhattan hang out when James Joyce published Ulysses and Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer, it is a cultural landmark in Lenox many cherish. That was made apparent when, to save it, Matt opened a Crowd Funding page as he welcomed a newborn grandchild into the store.
