Though the director seems to want to delve into Rodney's emotional side, that terrain is apparently off-limits, so we get a lot of Rodney's hipster persona even when he looks like he's on the verge of tears. He's obviously in a lot of pain, but simply won't express it, nor go into the whys and wherefores. Though it's impressive to witness archival photos of Rodney hanging with the likes of Bowie, Elvis, Cher, and virtually every other major star of the last 30 years, what stayed with me was his sad, sad face, that downturned mouth reflecting what must be a perpetual state of loss. Since the movie never manages to crack Rodney's pot, the celebrity interludes start getting tedious around the hour mark. Rodney's a lovable guy, but ultimately there is not a feature-length movie here. More dirt, more tears, more something other than seeing someone else's brushes with fame. Not every music documentary needs to be Some Kind of Monster, but this one doesn't even hit the depth of an "E! True Hollywood Story." Whether that's the film's fault, or just the sad truth about Rodney himself, I'm still not sure.
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