Hello, Bookstore

A seventysomething man stands at his bookshop’s storefront, telling customers they cannot come in. Without the possibility of browsing, many of them sadly walk away. The man, after waving them off with a smile, stands quietly in an empty shop filled with books waiting to be read. This is the first scene we see in A.B. Zax’s debut feature documentary Hello, Bookstore. We all know that independent shops were one of the hardest hit industries during the pandemic, but the film provides a heartfelt case study of how these businesses struggled to stay afloat. 

The 86-minute documentary depicts the small-town bookshop (aptly named The Bookstore) based in Lenox, Massachusetts run by Matt Tannenbaum. As the pandemic rears its ugly head, the friendly atmosphere of the shop is hit with mid-pandemic money troubles. The Bookstore faces closure, but the community takes the lead to save it.

Zax sets up cameras around the bookshop to capture the everyday experience in the quaint business.The little details of this bookshop are straight out of a Wes Anderson film, including second-hand books, tattered photos spanning back decades, and (less Anderson) a roll of toilet paper covered with Donald Trump’s face. Tannenbaum displays his favourite novels to the camera like a kid at a show-and-tell, delighted to share his recommendations. In the footage from pre-pandemic times, the shop is constantly filled with customers flicking through new releases and personal recommendations. Jeffrey Lubin’s classical score plays almost constantly, adding to its sense of comfortable warmth. 

The camera never leaves the shop, jumping between seasons and including conversations without any introduction. While it sometimes feels frustrating, this is the nature of the shop as customers come and go in the bustle of a working day. The documentary feels like a window into a different time, and Zax does a brilliant job of portraying this cozy atmosphere with an unobtrusive filming style. 

While The Bookstore features heavily, the documentary is really all about Tannenbaum. The man is a walking motivational quote, radiating a kindness that is immediately charming. Tannenbaum’s own story is scattered throughout as he tells customers how he fell in love with literature during his time in the Navy, and how he raised his young daughters after his wife died suddenly. Despite his often tragic anecdotes, Tannenbaum is humming with vibrancy. His presence is a constant through the film, and by the end you have fallen in love with him. It feels like a tribute to his life’s work, with even the title paying homage to how he answers the phone.

Tannenbaum has been there for generations, recommending books for children who will return with their own families one day. His passion for passing on a love not only of reading, but of community to the next generation is represented in every customer he welcomes. The worrying decline of independent bookshops is ticking in the background, but Tannenbaum’s passion for his business lends the film a sense of hope. As he struggles to pay rent for the bookshop amid a dizzying rise in online shopping, the community shower him with support. 

We watch Tannenbaum craft a touching paragraph for his GoFundMe page where he reaches out for help from his loyal locals. Within a few days, he has reached a staggering $60,000 of donations, providing him a helping hand to keep the business going. Hello, Bookstore artfully dances between being tear-jerking and charming. You would be hard pressed to find a film that represents the beauty of independent bookshops quite like this one.