Ivan Kander

I’m finding it incredibly hard to describe a film like There’s No End. On a basic level, I know a simple summary is apt: it’s a documentary/slice-of-life profile of musician Phil Elverum. But, that feels reductive in some way, and in a landscape that is chock full of polished musician profiles (something I have routinely shown a general weariness for as a curator), I think it limits what makes this piece so special.

What separates There’s No End from the standard musical profile is that, at its core, it’s not actually about music. Yes, Phil is a talented musician who has been a formative voice (literally and figuratively) in modern indie rock, but the film quickly evolves into a contemplative and impressionistic look at parenthood in the wake of tragedy: the bond between a father and his sweet young daughter.

Now, I don’t want to get into cliché territory about either fatherhood or grief. I know there have been countless films about these topics. But, filmmaker Mattias Evangelista, working with cinematographer Riley Donavan, captures something deeply meditative about both subjects, crafting an observational profile that celebrates the quiet beauty of life in the aftermath of death while also not skirting away from the mundanity that comes from raising a young kid by yourself. After all, as Elverum so clearly conveys, even when dealing with insurmountable heartbreak, he’s still responsible for making three meals a day. I think there is a weird sort of fetishization of grief often found in indie films that this piece, thankfully, manages to avoid.

“I wanted to create something that feels immersive, that ties in nature, life and death, and above all is very human” – Evangelista on the motivation for creating his short

The film, being a profile of a well-known musician, of course can’t avoid at least touching upon the creative process. So, while we get some conventional beats about Elverum’s backstory and general approach to music, we also get profound nuggets about the nature of art and how it’s made, addressing a sort of spirituality or enlightenment that comes from the act of creating. I realize those sort of ruminations out of context could easily sound like self-help mumbo jumbo, but in Elverum’s calming voice, their authentic and reassuring: a warm swath of words to lose yourself in. Documentaries are often built upon soundbites and Elverum is a treasure trove of them.

Hailing from Northern Washington State just like Elverum, filmmaker Evangelista has close geographical ties to the material, having grown up on bands like Fleet Foxes, Modest Mouse, and of course, The Microphones.

As Evangelista relates to Short of the Week,

Ultimately, he succeeds. There’s No End is a lovely song of a film, straddling moments of transcendent beauty with a deep sadness. It’s a film that doesn’t shy away from the mundane aspects of life, choosing, instead, to embrace it as a part of the creative process. After all, over the course of the film, Elverum seems to suggest that in a culture that is so focused on making things purely to make things…to always be “producing content”…maybe being there for your kid—being present—is “enough” in and of itself.