From its first frame, Chandler Levack’s Mile End Kicks unfolds as the cinematic equivalent of a Proustian madeleine. Teeming with specific sights, sounds, and scenes that not only recall an early 2010s Montreal but a specific, music-obsessed milieu. As its music critic protagonist (A proxy for Levack herself) proclaims it as the “most exciting place in the world for indie rock”, the film seamlessly renders it a mythical place where, as the film fervently points out, Arcade Fire created Funeral and fledgling artists like Mac DeMarco and Grimes spent tidy sums to home-record the albums that made them.

As it pours its heart out, it becomes immediately clear that Mile End Kicks isn’t interested in painting a realistic portrait of the city, but rather one that’s deeply personal and romantic—capturing the fabric and spirit of a bygone era that feels both like it happened yesterday and forever ago. It’s a messy, jumbled energy the film channels through being many things at once: a coming-of-age tale, a quirky rom-com, and a vibrant tapestry of a recent past.

Though it doesn’t equally succeed at being all those things, as it sifts through heated debates on the best Hüsker Dü album or the feeling of listening to a new Joanna Newsom record for the first time, Mile End Kicks becomes an experience that thrives on being both universal and hyper-specific, finding relatability and authenticity in a niche subculture as it traverses moments of awkward hilarity and sombre moments of personal growth.

Set in the summer of 2011, Levack’s film centres on music journalist, Grace (Barbie Ferreira) as she moves to Montreal from Toronto after a bad split from her editorial job at Merge Weekly —the disturbing details of which are drip fed over the film’s 112-minute runtime. She plans to use the time to write an instalment in the 33 1/3 book series on Alanis Morrisette’s Jagged Little Pill, as well as fall in love and have “real sex.”

She soon befriends her Francophone DJ Landlord (Juliette Gariépy), becomes the de-facto publicist of Bone Patrol (a slacker band she likens to Pavement, much to the band’s chagrin), and becomes embroiled in a love triangle with the collective’s lead guitarist, Archie (Devon Bostick), and vocalist, Chevy (Stanley Simons).

As Montreal muddles Grace’s focus and pulls her in multiple directions, Mile End Kicks quickly becomes a loving hodgepodge of clear influences like Almost Famous and High Fidelity, in which our young heroine navigates drug-addled loft parties, toxic sexual encounters, depleting bank accounts, and the pain of defining your self-worth. If nothing else, Levack’s film perfectly distills the anxiety of receiving email notifications and the euphoria of vibing your way through a new city.

For as endearing as these moments are, Mile End Kicks struggles to be more than the sum of its eclectic parts. Key plot beats are driven by decisions that lack motivation or sense, especially when Grace abruptly stops responding to emails and feedback from her editor. Couple this with a stylistically safe and inert directorial touch and a penchant to spell out themes instead of suggesting them, and Levack’s film labours, like its protagonist, to find its voice.

It’s a wonder that despite such glaring foibles, Ferreira, Simons, and Bostick manage to foster a natural will-they-won’t-they energy through a myriad of yearning glances, mixed signals, and wanton insecurity. Isaiah Lehtinen also shines as Bone Patrol’s hilariously idiosyncratic bassist.

Like the music scene it captures and the confused characters it follows, Mile End Kicks is equally scrappy and charming. Though it might not be as revolutionary as the music and era it obsesses over, it captures the joy and pain of being an indie music lover in the 2010s like few films.

Mile End Kicks releases April 17.