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“Hipster style conquers all fear,” a character announces toward the end of this musical love letter to the counterculture: In Soviet-era Russia, it seems, even cries of rebellion come off as sloganeering. Hipsters has all the panache of a Rob Marshall or Baz Luhrman or Christophe Barratier film, and like works by those modern practitioners of the musical, it’s mostly interested in approximating the style of an era—or at least its memory of the style of an era. The music is an afterthought in this film by Valery Todorovsky, and the plot could be drawn from an early draft of La Bohème—and that’s frankly OK. That Hipsters’ doomed, youthful eccentrics aren’t especially doomed—that the worst consequence for dressing like James Dean and listening to Charlie Parker in Moscow in the mid-’50s is a forced-upon crew cut—is frustrating, but only fleetingly so. The cameras pan like lightning while the pompadours stay frozen, and, for the most part, there’s no KGB in sight. If you’re looking for weighty realism, then Filmfest has a full program of austere Romanian films, many set in the Communist era. So is Hipsters, but its chief concern is joy, not indignity. To borrow more words from one of its well-coifed characters: “It is through me that you know of jazz and of freedom.”