Younger Than That Now

Only Eight Years Old, Sound Unseen Shrinks for 07, But Still Puts on the Ritz

The acid-folk progenitors saluted in this doc emerged as the party crashers-slash-flashers of the early '60s Greenwich Village folk scene. Co-leaders Peter Stampfel and Steve Weber knew a suitcase of old folk tunes, but sang them with as much impudence as affection: When they stormed through an original, it was likely to be called "My Mind Capsized" or "Boobs a Lot." The pair was perpetually high, and selling out came as naturally as X-ray vision. Despite flaws, the film features music that's sloppy and giddy, and it does right by the Rounders' honorable persistence in the face of commercial anemia. —Dylan Hicks

The Old, Weird America: Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music

Sunday at 7:15 p.m.

Following from its subject's belief that "perfection may be perfect, but to hell with it," this aptly eccentric ode to archivist extraordinaire Harry Smith and his heroically assembled "Rosetta stone of the folk boom" (per David Johansen) spurns didactic PBS-ing in favor of scrappy musicological gleaning: ample in-the-attic musings from old, weird Greil Marcus cut and pasted beside lovingly filmed renditions of the '20s and '30s tunes played by Sonic Youth, Beth Orton, Elvis Costello, Beck, et al. At a time when rep is scarce to extinct in the commercial realm, The Old, Weird would be essential if only for its stubborn insistence that then is now. —Rob Nelson


Sunday at 9:15 p.m.

In this indie musical, the actors spontaneously launch into song, in their own voices, with musicians performing live (both on- and off-camera) in the manner of an old-school Broadway show. The plot is thoroughly retro: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, and then...well, you'll have to see it yourself. The characters' stumbling approaches and retreats are made more plausibly human by the vulnerability of their voices as they reach for the right note, clink teaspoons into the audio mix, and even accommodate extra instrumentation—such as the pinging buttons of a photocopier or the castanet clicks of an old Royal typewriter. It's a winningly offbeat film. —Brian Miller

Longer versions of these reviews can be found at

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