I recently watched two motion pictures about bookstores: The Bookshop (2017) about a war widow Florence Greer (played by Emily Mortimer) who opens a small bookstore at a seaside village in England in the 1950s and the documentary Hello, Bookstore (2022) featuring owner Matthew Tannenbaum who fights to keep his Lenox, Massachusetts business afloat during the pandemic.
Both films romanticize bookstore owners, but there is no love interest to drive the plot (like bookish movies such as Notting Hill or You’ve Got Mail), but Greer and Tannenbaum love books and the written word. Their passion is infectious with many of the townspeople appreciating their expertise. But still, as everyone knows the bookselling business is hard and the financial rewards are almost nonexistent (like blogging).
Further complicating matters for Greer is a wealthy dowager (Patricia Clarkson) who wants the landmark house where Greer has her shop repurposed for an arts center (though there is water in the basement —not so good for books?) Greer becomes friends with an elderly, passionate book reader (Bill Nighy) and upon his recommendation, Greer purchases 250 copies of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. This seems like a big order of literary porn for a small fishing village, but publishers back then probably had more generous return policies.
Hello, Bookstore
The pandemic poleaxed Tannenbaum’s business especially since he thrived on connecting books to readers as they browsed with violin and classical guitar music gently dominating the soundtrack. You could also get a glass a wine at the adjacent Lit Bar, as long as you don’t use a book as a coaster, but COVID-19 changed all that.
What makes the movie interesting is that the director A. B. Zax started making the film before the pandemic when business was normal. Thus, the story takes a dramatic turn when Tannenbaum is forced to take orders by phone or from his doorstep. He will not allow his customers to come inside and browse. The film juxtaposes the pandemic days with the non-pandemic days. These are tough times for Tannenbaum and his business, but fortunately in Lenox there aren’t any snooty dowagers making his life extra miserable.
Enter the Blog Time Machine
Both films are enjoyable, but I wish I could have watched them in a room of bibliophiles wearing Too-many-books-and-not-enough-time T-shirts. That used to happen. Check out this blog’s very first (very raw looking) posting on November 29, 2008 when I reviewed the 2008 documentary Paperback Dreams about the trials and tribulations of two independent bookstores in the San Francisco area. About 70 people gathered at the then Push-Push Theatre in Decatur to watch the movie followed by a spirited discussion afterwards.
(Insert nostalgic sigh here.)
