The Greatest Hits (now streaming on Hulu) is a movie about music, which isn’t like dancing about architecture, but more like, I dunno, sneezing about cheese? It’s a romantic drama with a dollop of sci-fi, as star Lucy Boynton plays a young woman who suffers a traumatic accident and finds herself trapped in what can only be described as a time-bending grief loop. It offers plenty to look at: Justin Lin and latest Superman castee David Corenswet in supporting roles, and enough vintage audio gear and vinyl porn to blow the minds of a zillion knob-and-switch fetishists. And as these things go, it also offers plenty to listen to – the soundtrack is a real killer, a taste-snob’s dream playlist that might just push this slightly too-slight story into Recommendationsville, key word being “might.”
The Gist: Harriet (Boynton) is in a real dilly of a conundrum. Two years ago, she was in an auto accident that killed her boyfriend Max (Corenswet). Since then, every time she hears one of “their” songs, she fzwoops back in time to the moment when she and Max listened to it for the first time. There are rules for this scenario, of course: In the past, she can change her own behavior, but can’t alter events in order to save Max’s life; once the song’s over, or she pulls the plug on the track in the past, she wakes up, having experienced an “episode.” Since she could be walking down the street and be triggered by a passing car stereo and fall down and hurt herself, and because the episodes are inherently upsetting, she clogs up with earplugs and wears noise-canceling headphones, and has foregone her career of “being the next Alan Parsons” to work filing books in a near-silent library. She can listen to music that’s not from the Love List, which she plays on a succulent vintage turntable run through a big, warm 1970s-era amplifier, with one of those fancy stabilizer weights on top of the vinyl. DO NOT HATE HER BECAUSE SHE’S AN AUDIOPHILE.
Got all that? Once in a while, Harriet triggers an episode on purpose so she can once again fruitlessly attempt to save Max’s life, and we get a shot of her in a chair in front of her stereo, and it mirrors, surely on purpose, that famous ad for Maxell cassettes. This metaphysical phenomenon has taken over her life, and keeps her swamped in a constant state of depression. The only person who knows about the situation is her best pal Morris (Austin Crute), a DJ with a vinyl collection worth murdering for, and an equally kill-worthy classic El Camino that’d be perfect for transporting the bodies to the woods. Harriet attends group therapy sessions regularly, and one day, in walks David (Lin), who crashes into a pile of folding chairs, interrupting her first-ever sharing session. Afterwards, she walks out and trips and he helps her pick up her things, and it’s obvious – these two klutzes are destined to fall all over each other, especially after he unwittingly recites the movie’s thesis statement while making small-to-medium-talk with her over the bins at the record shop: “I love how music can do that – pull you back to a moment in time.”
And because anybody who even half-glances in the direction of unhipness must remain 100 miles from this movie under penalty of death by a million force-fed Creed playlists, David takes Harriet out on a date in the spotless ’60s-era convertible his late parents left him. To explain her constant headphonedness, she tells him that she’s “haunted by music” and it’s a medical issue, which isn’t not true, but really, what else should she say? Something like, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but…”? Or is it just too early in the movie to unleash that humdinger cliche? (Note: It’s too early. Patience. It will come, and when it happens, you may drink if you wish.) As Harriet tries to navigate her chronic melancholy-drenched condition and the new wrinkle David brings to her life, she realizes something has to give. But what will give, and how will it give, and will it be soundtracked by The The, a moody Lana Del Rey number, or the only Nelly Furtado hit you remember, and that has aged surprisingly well? NO SPOILERS.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: The Greatest Hits is essentially High Concept Fidelity or Nick and Norah’s Depressingly Finite Playlist, with some metaphysical Spotless Mindness, Sliding Doors what-ifs and a fractured narrative that’s like Annie Hall gone lightly sci-fi.
Performance Worth Watching: Boynton gives an appealing performance in a movie where the characters are a couple shades shy of three-dimensional.
Memorable Dialogue: The Greatest Hits thankfully isn’t too heavily stocked with cringey exchanges like this, but has enough to inspire mild irritation:
Morris: What in the name of Luther Vandross just happened?
Harriet: I just met the guy who’s gonna change my life.
Sex and Skin: An artsy-as-eff PG-13 sex scene in which the participants make love in a sea of LENS FLARE.
Our Take: So. Are we buying any of this? The biggest issue with The Greatest Hits is how it awkwardly marries a goofy concept with a maudlin tone – yes, this is a Movie About Trauma And Grief, but how seriously are we going to take this time-travel concept, in all its out-there-ness and logistic frailty? It’s a big ask, and writer-director Ned Benson’s attempt to render Harriet’s plight immersive, moving and deeply profound just doesn’t work. He forgoes the type of ambiguity that would stimulate minds to ponder the big questions about reality, memory and perception, and instead lands on a pat conclusion that’s a fraction as effective of one of his likely influences, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
That’s a long way of saying the movie is flimsy. It’s hard to earnestly and accurately convey the passion of music obsessives in a movie script – High Fidelity got it mostly right, but The Greatest Hits has more of a you’ve-gotta-hear-this-it’ll-change-your-life Garden State tin-eared quality that feels too forced, too written, to be convincing. Benson shows an eye for subtle, thoughtful visual flourishes that help paper over the clunky dialogue, and gives us a sense of the surreal nature of Harriet’s existence. But the film sags under the weight of its protagonist’s depression, which renders her simultaneously sympathetic and frustrating. A little more comic buoyancy might have been good for the movie – remember, a good song can help you work through difficult times, but a better one can energize your spirit.
Our Call: The Greatest Hits has its moments, but is in need of a remix. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.