Film Review | Room 237 (2012)

The Shining is one of those films that has firmly embedded itself across the entire spectrum of cinematic notoriety. Even casual moviegoers are likely to recognise at least some of the references to lines, characters and scenes that crop up in popular culture fairly regularly. At the other end of the scale we have the fanatics, the obsessives and the theorists; those who have watched and rewatched Kubrick's horror masterpiece to the point that they no longer see a narrative, more a collection of interconnected clues to a greater meaning behind the film. Rodney Ascher's Room 237 rests its focus upon a quintet of Shining enthusiasts who enjoy analysing the film to within an inch of its life. Sadly, the documentary can't live up to the movie geekgasm it seems to promise.

The theories presented range from the fascinating to the tenuous to the downright laughable. Some seem to have a fair amount of evidence within Kubrick's film, such as the choice to add several references - some overt, some subtle - to Native American culture not found in Stephen King's source novel. The leap to then declaring The Shining as being about the genocide of the Native Americans is quite a large step further, however; moreover, a step which requires a fair amount of gap-filling and dot-joining on the viewer's part. Other theories pieced together through over-obsession can only be viewed as crackpot (Kubrick filmed the Apollo 11 moon landing footage, and The Shining is "littered" with hints and clues towards this), whilst one section about playing the film simultaneously forwards and backwards on top of each other feels like Kubrick devotees clutching at straws and in all honesty is just plain dull.

If you haven't watched The Shining recently, do so before watching Room 237, otherwise references to some incredibly specific elements of the film will almost certainly be largely lost on you. Most of the citations are accompanied by footage from The Shining to illustrate whatever theory is being presented, but all the same it's better to have some frame of reference as to where each part being analysed appears within the original film. The use of footage from other Kubrick films, as well as several other sources, is neatly done and is probably Room 237's greatest strength.

It's a shame then that several other parts of the film fail to impress. Ascher immediately throws you straight into each interviewee's separate theories without any preamble or introduction, making the film's opening feel somewhat limp and disorientating. Ascher's choices from there fail more often than they succeed. At no point do we see any of the five speakers, not only making it difficult at times to differentiate between who is actually talking, but also more importantly makes it hard to develop anything more than an arbitrary engagement with those involved. Ascher also remains entirely without agenda or indeed purpose, making it difficult to know exactly how he wants us to view the ideas and people he's presenting to us. The theories are put forward without any exploration of the lives or personalities of those putting them to us, which ultimately makes them far less interesting than they could be.

In the end, Room 237 feels like something of a wasted opportunity. Numerous interesting questions (such as why Jack appears in the New Year's Eve 1921 photo) and factoids (Kubrick reportedly preferred the shorter European cut of The Shining, which actually removes some parts analysed here) are completely ignored, which will surely disappoint many who were hoping for some theories regarding these most notorious of mysteries surrounding Kubrick's film. But the biggest failing of Ascher's film is its execution. As a documentary, Room 237 is amateurish to the point of feeling at best like a special feature on a non-existent DVD or Blu-ray edition of The Shining, at worst like an extended YouTube video.

5/10

Film Review | The Imposter (2012)

The Imposter isn't one of those documentaries, such as 2010's Inside Job, that relates an account of an event which is simply too important not to be told. The Imposter's story is the very definition of truth being stranger than fiction, a tale of the unexpected that in reality only genuinely affected a handful of people but that is so out there as to be utterly compelling for anyone hearing it. But having irresistible subject matter isn't enough for a documentary to succeed. Thankfully, The Imposter has a lot more going for it than just its story.

Deserving of first mention is the film's primary talking head, Frédéric Bourdin, the man who managed to pass himself off as seventeen year old Texan Nicholas Barclay, missing since he was thirteen, even though Bourdin was actually twenty four, French and had several other notably different features to Nicholas. Bourdin is enigmatic whenever on camera, simultaneously charming and despicable; you'll find yourself willingly drawn into his version of events through his swaggering patter, despite the fact that the film regularly reminds you either overtly or subtly that the man you are watching and listening to is a habitual liar and swindler. All moralistic questions aside, director Bart Layton has struck on a consistently compelling screen presence in Bourdin.

Layton's choices elsewhere also work incredibly well. Dramatic reenactments of real events can at times feel jarring in documentaries, but thankfully this is never the case here. Layton's direction feels stylish and highly crafted throughout the recreated scenes making them much more than the perfunctory afterthoughts sometimes seen in lesser documentary efforts. The casting of Adam O'Brian as the younger Bourdin in these segments is also uncannily accurate and incredibly effective.

Elsewhere in the film Layton makes some expert choices which belie this being his debut feature-length documentary. The only voices we hear are those of the people involved, meaning that the way Layton allows the story to unfold feels incredibly organic and without agenda. And yet the director is clearly in control throughout, crafting his film in the style of a thriller or crime drama. Layton only occasionally allowing himself to linger on slightly unnecessary elements a little too long - a sequence focused on how Bourdin felt attending an American school, for example, feels out of place and uncharacteristically schmaltzy in tone. Any issues however are minor, seldom seen and easily forgiven. This is a captivating and high quality documentary which tells a fascinating tale with genuine skill.

9/10

Film Review | Inside Job (2010)

Some documentaries tell stories that deserve to be told, even if they're stories that you didn't know existed before you watched. Other documentaries tell stories that the filmmaker wants to tell; to expose a truth, right a wrong or just tell you about something they want to make a film about. And then there are rare documentaries like Inside Job, which tell stories that define a moment in history, that absolutely have to be told and that will be told in one way or another whether people want to hear them or not. They're often the hardest stories to tell, and so you always hope that when they are told, the person telling them does so in the right way. Thankfully, in making Inside Job, director Charles Ferguson manages just that in expert fashion.

Focusing on the 2008 financial crisis, Ferguson's film holds a wealth (pun partially intended) of potential before it even begins. This is history. In the future, economics professors will teach whole semesters on this event - in fact they probably already are. Indeed, there was every chance that Inside Job would turn out like a motion picture economics lecture, squandering its potential through financial jargon and stuffy delivery. Thankfully, Ferguson manages to avoid this pitfall almost entirely throughout due to a series of smart choices.

Having Matt Damon on board as narrator is the first thing the director does right. Damon's familiar tones, nonthreatening yet with the necessary gravitas to make sure this never feels flimsy or exploitative, act as a perfect guide through the duration of the film. Ferguson's script and style toe a fine line superbly, neither patronising the viewer nor leaving them behind in a whirlwind of intricate economics. Complex ideas are broken down in a way that makes them not only understandable, but also really quite interesting even if you haven't got a degree in economics. Ferguson knows that his subject matter is so incredibly important that it must maintain this fine balance of simultaneously being informative and compelling, and manages it admirably for the vast majority of his film. Only towards the very end does Ferguson falter slightly, as the section focusing on economic academia noticeably loses some of the vitality of what has come before, but the director quickly regains his stride for a strong and poignant finish.

Ferguson also never holds back in his choice of interviewees. He doesn't just settle for underlings who saw what was happening from below and deliver hearsay and happenstance accounts. He jumps unafraid straight into the lion's den and comes back with a fistful of feline tails. It's a brave decision which pays dividends. Ferguson doesn't get everyone he wants, but those he does get on camera, from influential members of the Bush administration to the Prime Minister of Singapore, are about as heavyweight as you can get. Ferguson also times his reveals of who refused to take part impeccably, allowing their absence to speak volumes.

We the audience should be incredibly grateful that Ferguson grabbed hold of this period of history and documented it on film before anyone else, as Inside Job is informative, unrelenting and irresistable both in content and execution. Had someone like Michael Moore made this documentary, the audience would come away twice as angry but none the wiser as to why. Ferguson explains why we should be angry, but never allows Inside Job to be a call to arms. This is refined documentary making, factually rich and rhetorically superb whilst also aesthetically beautiful at points - Ferguson's shots of countries such as Iceland and Japan are truly artistic, something you might not expect in a film about financial crisis. Inside Job ends up not only being one of the most important documentaries of recent times, but thankfully also one of the very best.

9/10

Film Review | Fuck (2005)

Released in the same year as The Aristocrats, another documentary that cares not a jot how much it might offend, Fuck is a film that ostensibly sets out to analyse one of the most offensive and versatile words in the English language ("fuck", in case you hadn't got that from the title), looking at its use in history as well as the many areas of modern life it crops up in. Whilst Steve Anderson's documentary manages this to a degree, it's not without its problems.

Anderson calls on a wide range of talking heads to discuss the four letter word in question, from porn stars to PhDs via politicians, comedians and rappers. There's no doubt that the director has done his homework, providing facts and figures about the use of "fuck" from its etymology, including false acronyms (I was genuinely surprised by how many vox populi interviewees believed the word is an acronym for "fornication under consent of the king" or a variation thereof), to its proliferation through popular culture, comedy and politics.

The problem comes from Anderson's lack of focus. He includes a great many clips from films and other media, but with no real purpose behind them. The film moves from one focus to another in fairly quick succession, but often with no underlying thread to tie things together. Things also seem to move off track a little too often; at times I wasn't really sure why certain material had been included - such as discussion of the "Nipplegate" incident at the 2004 Super Bowl - as it bore little relation to the main subject of the documentary, nor did it add much to it.

Many of these problems stem from Anderson's sloppy direction, never making it clear what his purpose or attitude is in making the documentary. Is he attacking the proliferation of the f-word or celebrating it? Examining modern attitudes towards and usage of the word, Anderson gives equal footing to both liberal and conservative viewpoints through the people he interviews, but never has the gumption to place himself on one side or the other. By sitting on the fence in this way, Anderson essentially ensures Fuck never has any teeth, making it a much tamer animal than many in the audience surely would want it to be.

In the end, Fuck never goes far enough down any path to make it worthwhile. It's amusing here and there, informative on a superficial level, but feels more like an extended ramble than a well-structured argument. By the time the credits rolled, I didn't feel satisfactorily educated, entertained or even offended. For a documentary purportedly analysing a word that causes such strong feelings in a great many people, this is disappointing. If you'll excuse my language, it's not that Anderson fucks things up completely, just that he never makes it clear why you should give a fuck about his film.

4/10

Film Review | Man On Wire (2008)

Without wishing to oversimplify the documentary genre, a good documentary essentially needs two things to make it a success: an intriguing subject, and flair of execution. If one of these two is severely lacking, then the film falters. American: The Bill Hicks Story is a recent example of a documentary that had the potential to be excellent but wasn't because one element of the two didn't cut it - Hicks and his career are potentially fascinating, but the way the documentary was put together felt awkward and inaccessible. American is also a prime example that succeeding in one of these two factors cannot make up for lacking in the other. The vast majority of viewers would surely agree that Man On Wire has one of these aspects in the bag before you've even begun to watch. The question therefore that must be answered during the film's ninety minutes is this: does director James Marsh have the flair to bring into being a potentially truly brilliant documentary?

In case you're not aware, Man On Wire has what must be one of the most intriguing subjects of any documentary, that being high-wire artist Philippe Petit's tightrope walk between the North and South towers of the World Trade Center on 7th August 1974. The film chronicles the walk itself and the complex methods utilised by Petit and his team to set up the walk, as well as Petit's life and career from the moment he first conceived the idea of walking between the Twin Towers in 1968, before construction of the towers had even been completed.

The film's subject matter, and the man at the centre of it all, Petit, do not disappoint. Petit's life is undoubtedly captivating and extraordinary, and the feats he achieves both at the Twin Towers and on other daredevil tightrope walks leading up to the WTC walk are wondrous to behold. Petit too is a filmmaker's dream - a vibrant and eccentric personality, likable, mischievous yet a little bit scary, almost like an imp en Français. He commands the camera and yet feels incredibly natural; the Petit we see never feels like an act, making his feats all the more magical and the man genuinely enigmatic.

Marsh's style is on the whole successful, but never matches its subject matter in terms of charm. He opts for a mix of stock footage taken at the time of the events themselves, talking heads of Petit and those involved in his stunts, and reenactments of events with actors playing the parts of Petit and his collaborators. Marsh attempts to present the whole film like a heist movie, which works at some points and feels forced (even a little amateurish, especially during the reenacted scenes) at others. Marsh also has the problem of his other contributors not being nearly as captivating as Petit himself. It occasionally feels as though the film becomes oversaturated with speakers to the point where I started forgetting exactly what role each of them played in the events.

Marsh chooses to focus entirely on the events of Petit's life from 1968 to 1974, and whilst this means we learn a great deal about this genuinely amazing period, it also means that the subjects of the film are never fleshed out fully. We learn next to nothing about Petit's childhood or life leading up to his decision to walk between the Twin Towers. Nor do we find out much at all about the direction Petit's life leads following the stunt. Any reference to the eventual fate of the Twin Towers on 11th September 2001 is also entirely absent, as is any reference to the WTC's lack of popularity as a landmark before Petit's stunt, and the increase in this following it. Marsh's decision to focus entirely on Petit and his crew's lives during this strict six year window ultimately becomes a double-edged sword - we are spoilt by the amount of detail devoted to Marsh's chosen time period, but ultimately left hungry for a little more breadth.

When taking into account all aspects of Man On Wire, the film can be considered far more hit than miss, but definitely not a film without fault. Marsh's choice of the Twin Towers stunt and Petit as his focus reaps huge rewards - the event and the man are genuinely captivating. It is Marsh's execution that holds the film's flaws. These are not glaring, unforgivable errors, but feel more like Marsh has relied a little too heavily on his subject matter to make the film a success. This works to a point; but it also means that, every so often, you wish that the documentary chronicling such astounding events was slightly more astounding in its execution.

7/10

Film Reviews | Catfish (2010); Exit Through The Gift Shop (2010); I'm Still Here (2010)

Catfish, Exit Through The Gift Shop and I'm Still Here all have quite a lot in common. Not only are they documentary films, but they are also all documentaries that have had similar criticisms levelled at them at various points through their creation and release. The criticism focuses upon whether or not each film was genuine in what it purported to document. Whilst each hasproponents for both sides of the argument, two conclusions that seem to be arrived at by critics fairly regularly are:

i) that a documentary film not being "true" links in some way to the quality and aesthetic worth of what has been made;

ii) that the makers of a documentary not being entirely transparent about the levels of factual and fictional content in their film again impact on its quality and aesthetic worth.

* * * * *

Looking first at Catfish, reviewing the film's content is tricky as a fair amount of the impact that the film will have on its audience rests on finding things out as the film progresses. The film focuses on photographer Yaniv "Nev" Schulman who strikes up a friendship on Facebook with a young girl called Abby after she sends him paintings of some of his photographs. This online friendship soon spreads to Abby's extended family, including her mother Angela and her half-sister Megan, and the film continues documenting the unexpected directions these relationships take.

Since its release, the truth behind the events of the film has been questioned from a number of directions, including opinions from others in the film industry ranging from the relevant (Morgan Spurlock, most famous for making Super Size Me) to the not-so-relevant (Zach Galifianakis, most famous for playing an idiot in The Hangover). Some seem merely unable to believe that the events of the film could be anything other than fictional; others have analysed the way in which the film's events are related and the timescale over which they are purported to have happened, and concluded that the film can't be relating real life events. Nev and the makers of the film, his brother Ariel and their friend Henry Joost, have continually insisted that the film's story is completely true, although they have admitted to recreating a handful of elements after the event for the benefit of the film's narrative. For many, this is enough to call shenanigans on the whole film.

However, opinion on whether the film's events are "real" often takes over the entire view of the film. From armchair critics to professional journalists, the focus regularly returns to how truthful the filmmakers are being about how much (if any) of their film is fiction. This is undoubtedly a great shame, as Catfish has a huge amount going for it in terms of style and craftsmanship. The way in which modern technology is seamlessly integrated into the way the story is told is fantastic; using Google Earth to illustrate long distance travel and Google Streetview to produce establishing shots, for example, are simple yet inspired touches. The style of cinematography is matched perfectly to the tonal shift of the film as it progresses, beginning with a personal handheld style, moving to a more sinister quasi-horror style as events take a more unsettling tone, and then a cleaner, relatively more polished feel for the film's closing act. Schulman and Joost know their stuff when it comes to documentary style, that much is certain. The narrative is engaging and kept me hooked until the very end. Nev is presented as such an amiable character that you feel an immediate attachment to him and his life. And none of this hangs on whether or not what we are watching is true. Moreover, does it actually matter when the film is as enjoyable and masterful as it is?

I'm Still Here is, in almost every way, the counterpoint to all the things that make Catfish a great documentary. The film chronicles a year in the life of Joaquin Phoenix as he unceremoniously retires from acting in order to pursue a career as a rapper. And that's pretty much it. Phoenix's reasons for leaving acting are never entirely clear, other than boredom on the actor's part, with him essentially coming across as a conceited Hollywood brat. His rapping is awful, although his intention to become a serious rapper seems entirely genuine most of the time. Phoenix's meetings with P Diddy to get advice and try to jumpstart his new career move provide some of the film's most compelling scenes. The uncomfortable edge they have is comparable to that seen in Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm or Ricky Gervais' Extras, although never to such an entertaining degree.

Other than that, the film is filled with Phoenix and his entourage ordering hookers, getting drunk, taking copious amounts of drugs and generally behaving appallingly towards each other. Many of these scenes quickly become tedious and regularly unpleasantly uncomfortable. Phoenix himself comes across as highly unlikable and obnoxious to be around for most of the film. The way he treats those around him is abhorrent. By the end of the film, not only is it hard to care about Phoenix's struggle to break into the music business, but also that he left a promising career in film to do so. I just wanted him to go away.

Having insisted all along that Phoenix's tumultuous attempt at a career change was entirely genuine, soon after the film's release (and in what many have seen as an attempt to boost unimpressive box office returns after mixed reviews) director Casey Affleck admitted that everything seen in the film is entirely set up. Phoenix was playing a fictional version of himself the whole time, remaining "in character" during public and promotional appearances whilst the film was being made. Phoenix and Affleck have explained their desire to comment on people's willingness to believe everything they see as true when it is labelled as "reality". But this desire never comes across through the film, nor does coming clean about the manufactured nature of the film's events make it any more obvious. There is never a clear message behind the film, despite bookending the events seen with references to Phoenix's childhood and relationship with his father (also set up: the home video footage is fabricated and the man seen in the film is actually Affleck's father, not Phoenix's) possibly to imply Phoenix straying from his roots. This lack of clarity is not due to subtlety, but simply poor filmmaking.

Whilst there are moments that are made slightly more impressive by knowing they were set up (the scenes with P Diddy, for example, and an uncomfortable altercation between Phoenix and Ben Stiller), for the most part the revelation just serves to make Phoenix come across as even more self-indulgent. He has moved from a self-important actor failing to make it as a musician, to a self-important actor who apparently thinks watching him fail to make it as a musician will be entertaining for others. A film of this type needs to be shot through with either genuine humour or satire, and it is sorely devoid of both. Affleck too does not come off well. The revelation of the documentary's fictitious nature doesn't matter; either way, his directorial style throughout the film is uninspired, lacking in panache or storytelling know-how. Compared to the effortlessly stylish Catfish, in terms of craft this is pedestrian at best, downright amateurish at its worst. Affleck may be a highly promising acting talent, but based upon I'm Not There, I'm not looking forward to his next outing as a director.

Banksy's Exit Through The Gift Shop treads the ground somewhere between Catfish and I'm Still Here. The film begins by introducing Thierry Guetta, the man behind the camera and an obsessive camcorder user who stumbles into the world of street art almost entirely by accident, becoming the unofficial biographer of the underground movement. Guetta becomes obsessed with tracking down Banksy, apparently considered the most elusive of all street artists, and eventually their paths cross. However, events take a twist for the bizarre once Banksy sees Guetta's documentary and decides to take control of the film himself.

The main problem with ETTGS is that, very simply, a lot of what it shows you isn't actually that interesting to watch. After Guetta himself is introduced, a lot of the first act of the film is comprised of footage of street artists doing their thing. It's just that, whilst street art as a cultural phenomenon is interesting, watching people creating the street art just isn't as compelling as looking at the finished product. For around ten minutes or so, I found myself genuinely interested in watching Guetta's footage of the intricate painting and stencil work that goes into creating street art; but there are only so many times you can see shady figures spraying walls or putting up giant images of André The Giant or being questioned by the police before it all begins to merge together.

Things perk up a bit once Guetta has teamed up with Banksy. The sequence chronicling Banksy leaving a "murdered" red telephone box on the streets of central London is a particular highlight, as is footage of Banksy's infamous Disneyland Guantanamo Bay prisoner stunt, which becomes as tense as a scene in any thriller worth its salt. There is quite a bit of street art creation footage in between these however, which still failed to truly ignite my interest in the film. In many ways the film's running time of under ninety minutes is a blessing: had it been much longer, the less enthralling segments may have ended up as my lasting impression of the film.

Thankfully, the film's final third vastly improves upon what has preceded it, with the camera turned on cameraman (and by far the most fascinating personality on show here) Thierry Guetta and his own attempt to break into the street art scene. The result is a truly excruciating finale - a car crash of epic proportions waiting to happen that you can't bear to watch but at the same time can't possibly look away from, with a conclusion truly unforgettable.

It is largely the film's final act which drew skepticism from many, which is essentially the same criticism that Catfish received. Many refused to believe that the events of the film could be anything but fictitious, the greatest elaborate prank from the street artist who is almost as famous for his elaborate pranks as he is for his pop-culture-bending stencils. The makers of the film - or at least those involved who are happy to reveal their identities - have always stated that the story the film tells, and all the people depicted, are genuine. Out of all three films here, ETTGS probably has the most evidence outside the film to prove that at the very least a significant portion of the film's events actually happened. At the same time, however, it probably has the biggest reason for people to be wary of its claimed credentials. After all, you can't ignore that above the title on the film's poster appears the phrase "A Banksy film".

Essentially, these three documentaries together show that it doesn't really matter how candid the makers of the film are about the truth (or lack thereof) in the film when it comes to the quality of the film as a whole. I'm Still Here is the only film discussed here where those involved have unequivocally stated that the film's content is staged, and it is by far the poorest of the three. In fact, these three films are more revealing about the people passing judgement on them. Catfish and Exit Through The Gift Shop in many ways prove the well-known adage that "truth is stranger than fiction", but also that many people today would rather dismiss something remarkable as fabricated than stretch their belief to accept an unlikely truth.

Whilst I'm not saying that everything should be accepted at face value, there's being inquisitive and then there's trying to reveal the man behind the curtain for no reason other than spite. When I'm Not There was first revealed as a "mockumentary" rather than a depiction of real life, there were even those who poured scorn upon that admission, seeing it as an attempt by Casey Affleck to save face for Joaquin Phoenix. Essentially, the skepticism was reversed: critics claimed that Phoenix's actions were all completely real, and the claim of it all being a set-up was the hoax. To be that cynical must make life a constant struggle against disappointment. In the end, it is of course an entirely subjective decision as to how much of what you see in these films you actually believe. Just make sure this decision has no bearing on your aesthetic enjoyment of the film.

* * * * *

Catfish

8/10

I'm Still Here

4/10

Exit Through The Gift Shop

7/10

Film Review | The Aristocrats (2005)

Making a documentary film about one of the filthiest jokes ever told might seem to many to be inviting controversy for controversy's sake. Upon its release, The Aristocrats did stir things up a little with one chain of cinemas in the US refusing to screen it. But the style and delivery of the film quickly demonstrate that the intention of filmmakers Penn Jillette and Paul Provenza here is not to directly shock or cause offence (although many watching The Aristocrats will no doubt be shocked or offended) but to look into the nature of comedy, of joke-telling and of the people who make their living in those fields.

The premise of the film is simple: to explore the origins and enduring appeal behind a joke known as "The Aristocrats" which has existed for decades since the vaudeville era. The structure of the joke, as explained within the first ten minutes of the film, is simple: there is little variation in the opening of the joke or the punchline, whereas the middle part of the joke is the exact opposite; it is the chance for the teller of the joke to make it his or her own through ad libbed and improvised description. And here's where the shock and offence come in: the intention of the teller is to make the middle section as boundary-crossing, taboo-breaking and downright filthy as they can.

Essentially, if you don't have a sense of humour, a strong stomach and are easily offended then it's likely that you'll get very little out of The Aristocrats. Jillette and Provenza's documentary consists almost entirely of interview footage of comedians, performers and members of the entertainment industry either talking about the joke or giving their own rendition of it. There are plenty of big names here (Robin Williams, Whoopi Goldberg and Chris Rock to name just three) but also many who aren't so well known, especially as all but a few of the comedians featured are American. The three Brits who feature are Eddie Izzard, Billy Connolly and Eric Idle (all of whom, incidentally, have very successfully broken the US market).

With around one hundred people interviewed throughout the film, and with humour being such a subjective and personal thing, there's bound to be a handful who don't quite hit the mark - Drew Carey comes across as smug and grating, and a ventriloquist act credited as "Otto & George" is neither funny nor successful at ventriloquism. But there's also going to be plenty of contributors who you will enjoy. With such a large amount of speakers in the film, in lesser hands the film could have become incredibly unfocused, but Jillette and Provenza keep things vibrant whilst at the same time drawing from the rich array of comedic talent and experience they have at their disposal.

That said, there are points when it's hard to judge what the purpose behind the film is. The opening ten minutes or so feel a little like a false start as we go straight in to the middle of George Carlin (undoubtedly one of the most captivating minds on comedy in the entire film) speaking about the origins of the joke without any form of introduction from the makers of the film. There are also sections throughout the documentary where people are talking about aspects of the joke or the ways it can be told where it is unclear why they are saying what they are saying at that particular point in the film. These sections make the film feel unfocused at times, and occasionally left me waiting for the film to find itself again and continue on a more meaningful track.

However, the good in The Aristocrats far outweighs the bad. The line between a comedy film and a documentary is expertly toed. The film never becomes dull, with many laugh-out-loud moments including regular fantastic renditions of the joke itself - Sarah Silverman's unique and unsettling version immediately springs to mind as a particular highlight. Jillette and Provenza never forget that they are documenters either, resisting the urge to turn the film into a lightweight series of sketches or clips from comedy shows. The film also succeeds in deconstructing what makes the joke successful as well as how each comedian's slant on the joke reflects their personality and brand of humour. Close analysis of comedy in this way can often destroy the entertainment within it, but once again the craftsmanship within the film makes sure this is never the case.

In The Aristocrats, Jillette and Provenza have produced both an entertaining and insightful look into the world of comedy, as well as a keen observation on the nature of comedy itself. Whilst it's not always completely clear what direction the film is going in, the ride is always thoroughly enjoyable. And although this is clearly a documentary about comedy, rather than a comedy film per sé, you'll find the laughs are consistent and the presentation pleasingly high in quality. Probably file this one in the "films not to watch with your mum" pile, though.

8/10