A few weeks ago I went to see Charli xcx’s new mockumentary, “The Moment,” with a few friends at the Coolidge Corner Theater. Our theater — though quite small — was full of the kind of 25-and-under crowd you’d expect to see. 

Frankly, I was surprised. I couldn’t take the film seriously when I saw its first promotions and I had a gut feeling others wouldn’t either.

But the film’s decent turnout on a freezing February evening is a testament to the lasting powers of “brat,” the album that became the anthem of a summer and started a slime green movement that literally bled into all areas of culture. It’s this hysteria that lives at the center of the film, and that drives its central question: When does a modern album really die? And who gets to decide when it does?

That’s a decision that should be made by artists and their team, although the film’s central thesis demonstrates how complicated this reality has become. 

But what interested me more was not the moral argument the movie was trying to make but the fact it tried to make one at all. It’s one thing to be frustrated with the complex relationship between popular art and the promotion it now requires. It’s another entirely to make a movie about it. 

Visit the social media profile of almost any artist of stature in the music industry and you will find a page rife with advertisements and paid partnerships. This phenomenon takes on its own meta-moment in “The Moment.” “brat” is transformed into a bright green credit card in the movie, as part of a promotional campaign to keep the summer going. It’s unclear to Charli what the credit card has to do with her music, but she signs the papers anyway. 

This isn’t a one-off occurrence, by any means: Artists across all forms are pressured into doing things they don’t necessarily believe in, oftentimes having social media accounts that are active and extremely popular despite not necessarily wanting them. 

But I loved watching Charli’s internal tug-of-war play out in real time — the pull between virality and common sense. This battle is mirrored through the conflict of letting the “brat” era die naturally or live forever in the candy-coated, sequined concert film her label promised Amazon Prime Video.

Spoiler: While the label appears to win, it’s Charli who’s actually victorious, both in the film and in reality. Ultimately the film gets made — flying harness, flammable oversized cigarette and all — but “brat” as it’s meant to exist officially dies, at least for those who really knew the album and really knew her. 

It’s refreshing to witness an artist coming off of the biggest moment of their career after taking a huge risk, especially one that deliberately questions the celebrity machine we’ve become so used to. And it makes me feel more sane to know that artists also tire of the many ways in which we’ve warped music into something that it is not. 

I’m still not totally sure if Charli’s laughing retroactively at her future self, the one that may give in to the pressures of money and status as they come in greater waves. Maybe she’s laughing at all of us for being willing to spend our money on a mockumentary about an album that came out almost two years ago. Either way, I’m glad she got the last laugh.