Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie

Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie is another shamelessly, defiantly, and delightfully Canadian feature by filmmaker Matt Johnson. And at a time when pride in the United States has reached an all-time low, a movie steeped in the culture of our North American neighbors is a refreshing change of pace. No flag-waving. No nationalism. But its specificity, much of it captured on the streets of Toronto, is infectious, particularly for anyone from or familiar with that city. Johnson’s approach is typically Canadian, with a penchant for self-deprecation and absurdity. He’s also a filmmaker whose work can feel chaotic, like he’s making everything up as he goes. However, one of the reasons his earlier films, and this one, prove so engrossing and hilarious is the clear method to his madness. It’s like watching a genius magic trick unfold before our eyes, except the magician bumbles around on stage and seemingly has no control over the situation, only to miraculously reveal that his haphazard energy and absurd behavior were all part of the illusion. 

If neither Johnson nor the movie’s title rings a bell, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. His last film, BlackBerry (2023), about the now-defunct mobile device invented in Waterloo, Ontario, was probably his most popular to date. But it was distributed in the US by the Independent Film Company and didn’t even earn back its $5 million budget. His two earlier films, The Dirties (2013), about an aspiring filmmaker who loses himself in his latest project, and Operation Avalanche (2016), about CIA agents in 1967 who discover that the Apollo 11 mission is being faked, barely received distribution stateside. Nirvanna originated with Johnson’s short-lived show Nirvanna the Band the Show, a web series that later graduated to Viceland, a network that no longer exists in Canada. That didn’t deter Johnson and his co-conspirator Jay McCarrol from turning their show into a feature, which premiered at SXSW last year and landed a distribution deal with Neon. 

Admittedly, I have never seen Nirvanna the Band the Show (though I intend to correct that soon). However, seeing the show isn’t necessary to appreciate, or even fall in love with, this movie. It’s easy to size up the two main characters—fictionalized versions of the real Matt and Jay—and realize they’ve maintained the same friendship dynamic for years. Matt is an overgrown kid. With ceaseless enthusiasm, he’s always hatching elaborate, doomed-to-fail schemes to promote their band, which hasn’t, one assumes, ever performed live or recorded any tracks. They might not even have songs. Jay plays the piano and seems to have real musical talent, and he goes along with Matt’s scatterbrained plans. Their ultimate goal is riotously small-time: They hope to book a gig at the Rivoli, a small restaurant and live performance venue with just over 200 seats, situated in Toronto next to a Chick-fil-A. Do they call the place to talk to a manager or a booking agent? No, that would be too easy and sensical. Instead, they try to generate interest with elaborate publicity stunts, hoping that the Rivoli will have no choice but to let them play. (Later, in a riotous, low-key scene, Jay learns that a quick telephone call will land him a spot at an open mic night at another nightspot, underlining how much time and effort they’ve wasted with their stunts.)

An early scene in the film takes place in 2008, employing unused footage from their TV show, which was captured at the time on consumer-grade MiniDV cameras. Looking youthful and thinner, Matt and Jay think flyers taped to a light post will land them a show at the Rivoli. “Jay,” says Matt, “I got a feeling things are gonna work out okay for us.” Cut to 2025, when not much has changed in the last 17 years—certainly not Matt’s outfit—save for Jay reaching his limit with Matt. He’s tired of living in their squalid house, surrounded by old VHS tapes, piles of dirty clothes with flies hovering around them, and the occasional rat. Matt’s latest plan, called “Seventh Inning Skydive,” written out on one of his many dry-erase boards, requires them to reach the top of the CN Tower, parachute into the SkyDome in the middle of a Toronto Blue Jays game, and announce the concert at the Rivoli. Matt’s “If you build it, they will come” reasoning never quite makes sense, but that’s part of what makes his plans so funny. 

Much of the film was shot in what appears to be guerrilla-style, blending hidden cameras and docu-drama action with sequences so convoluted that they must be staged. Similar to a mockumentary by Sacha Baron Cohen (Borat, 2006), some scenes feature real-life elements, while most are scripted. Ever since The Dirties, Johnson has been fascinated by blurring the line between reality and fiction, often resulting in a disorienting, self-reflexive concoction. Take when Matt and Jay explain their CN Tower plan to a libertarian employee at Canadian Tire, who, with signature Canadian politeness, says they can do anything they want, but “as a sane person, I feel like I should prevent you from doing this.” This candid camera moment with a non-actor is followed by some daring cinematic trickery. Matt and Jay eventually jump from the tower in one of those How did they do that? moments. Surely, Johnson used some expert CGI and editing software. But the real explanation: pure movie magic.  

The plot kicks into high gear when present-day Matt resolves to convert their RV into a time machine by building and installing a flux capacitor in the refrigerator, using a VHS tape of Back to the Future (1985) as a schematic. He doesn’t really expect the device to work. But when he spills a bottle of Orbitz—a short-lived Canadian beverage discontinued in 1999, except for the secret cache Matt found—onto the contraption, and the RV reaches 88 kph, they see a flash of light. Maybe it’s the “Got Milk?” ad with Jared from Subway, the posters for The Dark Knight, or the audience in a packed movie theater laughing at the badly aged jokes in The Hangover, but soon, Matt and Jay realize they’ve traveled back in time. “The question is,” Matt wonders, single-minded and ignoring the practical realities of the situation, “how can we use this to get a show at the Rivoli?” What unfolds is a delirious array of alternate timelines and half-baked solutions that become ever more insane, yet also surprisingly tender. For all the movie’s zaniness, it’s ultimately about two best friends realizing they’d do anything for one another—that their friendship isn’t dependent on their band’s success, only their time together. 

What’s so impressive about Nirvanna is how effortless editors Curt Lobb and Robert Upchurch make everything look. They scoured endless hours of footage from the earlier show to find usable clips, then built scenes around them, seamlessly blending the old footage with new scenes to create the impression of Matt and Jay interacting with their younger selves. While the newer footage looks professional and high-definition, the older images are in a boxy aspect ratio and appear fuzzy, pixelated. Johnson also employs several flashbacks presented in black-and-white and mild slow motion, just enough to lower the characters’ voices to comic effect. Fortunately, the device doesn’t just repeat scenes from earlier in the 99-minute movie; it shows alternate takes and unused scenes. Much of the humor comes from their kooky plans and their willingness to poke fun at themselves, like in the scene where they hide in the apartment closet, listening to their younger selves rehearse a song about creamed corn all night long. 

Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie races from one situation to the next with a frenzied, exhilarating energy that never slows: A timeline mixup, a manhunt for a murderous celebrity, a race to find more Orbitz, and other harebrained plans that Matt worries will get them arrested for “illegal time travel.” Matt and Jay’s pairing offers enough laughs, but some of the most priceless footage features Torontonian onlookers who wonder what these guys are doing. The time-travel logic becomes a little scrambled in the final minutes, but that’s less of a story problem than a reason to watch it again and see if I missed something. The whole thing feels like a cinematic stunt of the highest order, blending reality and fiction into something truly unique, despite enough references for Matt to pause, look into the camera, and express incredulity at their liberal use of copyrighted material. He remarks that it will be a miracle if we’re able to see this in a theater. And that’s about how I felt watching it, like I was witnessing something inspired, punkish, and hilarious that was both familiar and incomparable.