Back in the day, Joaquin Phoenix was an early Colby crush. Something about his hunched back and cleft lip really sent the right kind of shivers down my spine. So it was with keen interest that I went to the theatre to see "I'm Still Here", a documentary about Joaquin's recent foray into hip-hop, produced and filmed by JP's brother-in-law Casey Affleck. No bones: The movie is pretty bad. I spent most of my time either laughing uncomfortably or wincing, rubbing my head when appropriate in my own autistic moment of personal consolation. The movie is EITHER the most cynical hoax in the history of Film (and therefore, both brilliant and a remarkably sad essay on American culture at its current moment) or a deeply exploitative experiment in film-making by one celebrity of another.
* At least 3 dick shots (all different men, none of them Joaquin)
* Musing by JP on the smell of a Hooker's butthole
* A daft palaver between JP and Edward James Olmos regarding "water droplets on mountain tops" (perhaps the only moment where the "documentary" loses its believability)
* More malapropisms than you can throw a camel at
* Ant, the personal assistant, shitting on Joaquin's face while he sleeps
* throw-up, coke, stretch-limos, ragers, temper tantrums and about a million celebrity cameos
Whether its Joaquin (the fumbling, self-agrandizing "artist"), Sean Combs (the money-grubbing, self-serving music producer), or Casey (the exploitative, sophomoric movie-maker) this movie is a great character study in the monsters we make for ourselves.