I know very little about indie rock band The National. One of the few things about The National that I do know is that my lack of knowledge about them makes me uncool. As in, if I knew more about The National, I would immediately be perceived as cooler. (I remember falling for this trap with The Decemberists, pretending to be "into them" in an effort to gain credibility. It didn't work and it's unlikely that I'll ever try again.)
Or, perhaps as their fame grows and becomes more and more mainstream, my disinterest in The National will create a perception that I am more cool. (I should point out: I am not cool. But sometimes I will grasp at any unlikely chance for this to be perceived as the case, even though it's a lie.) The point of all of this is: I was really dreading watching a documentary about an indie rock band that I knew very little about and had minimal interest in learning more.
On Wednesday night, Mistaken For Strangers -- the documentary about The National that I've been writing about so far -- was the opening night film of the Tribeca Film Festival. I'm going to cut to the chase: I reallyenjoyed Mistaken For Strangers. (Also, here's a good example about me not being cool: I just used the phrase "cut to the chase.") What I wasn't expecting was that The National had about the same small interest in beingin this documentary as I had in watching it. Immediately, I felt a connection with The National.
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