Finally, there’s a movie that truly understands the vinyl nerd, one that gets the crazy, stupid and possibly dangerous lengths we might travel to procure an ultra-rare, likely-cursed album released by a hippie cult a half-century ago. Of course, this movie, Pater Noster and the Mission of Light, is a horror flick served with a good dose of comedy. Where else did you think a hunt for Discogs gold would take you?
Directed by Christopher Bickel, the South Carolina-based, “anti-Hollywood” filmmaker whose previous efforts include Bad Girls and The Theta Girl, Pater Noster and the Mission of Light is no-budget cinema at its finest. It looks good, has a great soundtrack with original music and, most importantly, is a clever, well-written film. Released last year, Pater Noster has been streaming on Night Flight, which is where I caught it. There’s also a Blu-Ray release on the horizon.
In Pater Noster and the Mission of Light, Max, a record store clerk and vinyl aficionado, schemes to get her hands on copies of the super rare albums released by a 1970s new age cult. Despite the warning from a radio host in the vein of Art Bell (played by The Lost Boys’ sax symbol Tim Cappello!), Max and her friends head to a backwoods commune on their treasure hunt.
There is a real world point of reference for the fictional cult psych rockers Mission of Light and that’s Ya Ho Wha 13, the band that came out of the Source Family commune in L.A. in the early 1970s. (Look up their original pressings if you want to see some prices that will make your jaw drop.) The film’s Pater Noster even resembles The Source Family’s leader, Father Yod. Another reference is The Merry Pranksters, the group founded by the author Ken Kesey that was documented in Tom Wolfe’s book, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. The Mission of Light’s bus, which plays a big part in the film, is similar to The Merry Prankster’s ride, Further.
Bickel, who wrote and directed Pater Noster, is a musician and works at a record store, which explains a lot of the specificity in the movie. Subculture references abound throughout the film, from the flash of a Charles Manson record in the stacks to a shot of Max and friends that’s an homage to the cover of Minor Threat’s album Salad Days. But, the reference that stuck with me— the one that made me say, this movie is legit— is one of the most mainstream records of the 20th century. Whipped Cream and Other Delights, the 1965 album from Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, has been a $1 bin staple for as long as I can remember. It’s so common that anyone who digs eventually becomes blind to the whipped cream girl on the cover. It becomes a green and white blur that you flip past as you dig for fire lurking in the bargain crates.
That Whipped Cream is referenced twice— once when a customer says her copy should be worth a couple hundred bucks ‘cause eBay said so, and again when someone finds it at a thrift store— is a sign that this movie was made by someone who knows how ridiculous the vinyl resurgence has become. Pater Noster captures the thrill of the hunt while also casting a critical eye towards it.
You need both of those points of view for the story to work because even— maybe, especially— if you’re a seasoned crate digger, you get that there’s a lot of hype and speculation involved. Plus, you can probably acknowledge that not all of your purchases have been sound and some of your justifications for collecting aren’t entirely rational. All that conflict is where both the comedy and the horror stems.
But, the real reason I think Pater Noster works is because it’s a DIY effort. This isn’t the kind of story you can tell in a project that’s backed by a studio. The references that appeal to record nerds are “too niche” for companies that want to push their movies on the widest audience possible. Hell, studios wouldn’t be able to wrap their heads around the premise of a woman in pursuit of a rare psych record. Imagine the notes: “Can you change this to a Taylor Swift Target exclusive variant?” Pater Noster and the Mission of Light is a movie for people who would cringe at such a suggestion. If you’ve made it this far into the post, you’re probably that person, so go watch the movie.
Liz O. is an L.A.-based writer and DJ. Read her recently published work and check out her upcoming gigs.
Keep Reading:
Target’s Music Section and the Gentrification of Vinyl
The 15 Best Albums of 2024 According to One Really Opinionated DJ