Before the premiere of The Reflektor Tapes, the new Arcade Fire feature film, Win Butler, the group’s principal songwriter, read Charles Bukowksi’s “So You Want to Be a Writer” as an invocation. The piece’s appeal to him is clear. “So You Want to Be a Writer” speaks with the same kind of alluring, aggressive superiority complex of Arcade Fire’s “Ready to Start” or “Intervention” or “We Used to Wait” — if you’re young, earnest and looking for answers as to why everyone seems like they’re full of shit, they’re willing to oblige. “So You Want to Be a Writer”, in particular, stokes the popular belief that true artists cannot be motivated by fame, approval or “women in your bed”, the latter of which is hilarious to anyone familiar with Bukowksi’s social life. Artists need to be willing to play the messiah and the martyr, ready to die for this shit to deliver salvation. No band has expressed that willingness more fervently than Arcade Fire.-=-=-=-

It’s just as well, as Arcade Fire’s solemn dedication to their artistry is the only unifying thread of The Reflektor Tapes, a mostly candid look into Arcade Fire’s creative process, except when it’s a highly stylized deconstruction of their live shows. It’s a meditation on their relationship with Haiti, except when shifts toward Los Angeles or Jamaica. It attempts to stress the equality of Arcade Fire by not identifying any of the members on screen; aside from Butler and Regine Chassagne, the rest of the band plays the same seen but not heard role than MC Ren and DJ Yella did in Straight Outta Compton.

It’s reasonable to expect The Reflektor Tapes is the next best thing to Arcade Fire showing an actual sense of humor, which is to be unintentionally humorous a la Rattle & Hum. Non-LA audiences will have to wait until halfway through the film for the first overblown poetic reference, wherein a quote from Kirkegaard’s “The Present Age” (the one that inspired the title of Reflektor) flashes across the screen. Butler dreams of Elvis Presley and tells us all about it. Twice. The second time, the King informs Butler that Arcade Fire needs to practice 37 hours a week and given the film’s often grim recollections of making Arcade Fire albums, that sounded like a lowball estimate.

The Reflektor Tapes also has an unfortunate tendency to focus on the band’s most sanctimonious songs and put them in a setting that only increases their sanctimony. Neon Bible closer “My Body Is a Cage” is sorta “Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow” as written by Billy Corgan, and Butler performs it wearing a Public Enemy baseball jersey while Regine Chassagne dutifully plays a drum with some stones, staring off intently in the distance. Later, the band huddles around a battery of keyboards and Butler intones “sugar plum fairy” as a count-off before they solemnly tap out “Rococo,” the snarkiest song in Arcade Fire’s discography. Butler sings “Porno” with a snake around his neck and collapses in a van after another show of leaving it on the stage.

Butler admitted that director Kahlil Joseph wasn’t a fan of the band until he heard Reflektor; Joseph’s credits include FKA Twigs’ “Video Girl,” the short film that accompanied Flying Lotus’ Until the Quiet Comes and Kendrick Lamar’s m.A.A.d., which played during his run of opening sets for the Yeezus tour. Butler then proudly noted that Joseph turned down a Jay Z video to film the documentary. It’s an inspired pairing, but each party seems to have different aims. Joseph's muddled aesthetic overwhelms The Reflektor Tapes — visual ideas are shifted throughout, from a mix of picture-in-picture contrasts, an endless array of voiceovers set to wistful stares, grainy lo-res footage of Haiti’s Carnival that looks like Hype Williams gone chillwave.