Film

Vanity Doc My Way Is So Infuriating You’ll Hate-Watch It

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The main question raised by rock musician Rebekah Starr’s documentary vanity project My Way has nothing to do with craft or ambition or the difficulties women confront in show business. She may be an OK musician and songwriter, but she says little about her work, and the film includes only a few songs.

Shot with a camcorder by Rebekah and her bandmate Annika Alliksoo as they drive from Pennsylvania to Los Angeles, where they’ve booked a crew for a music video, the film is a long, arcless, infuriating montage of unconnected road-trip moments between two annoying and self-absorbed people.

Fifty minutes in, when you’re still watching the pair drinking, flirting with frat boys, wearing douchey corn-curl-shaped cowboy hats, and having meaningless, showboaty snits, you may consider that every single suicide technique in the controversial book Final Exit involves putting your head in a plastic bag with a rubber band around your neck, and think, “Do I have everything I need?” But that’s not the question, either. No, the main question you’ll be asking is, “Why the fuck is Ron Jeremy in this at all?” Well, the answer is partly because Starr intercuts all this pointlessness with the non-sequitur L.A. reminiscences of famous Sunset Strip assholes including Steven Adler of Guns N’ Roses, Poison’s Rikki Rockett, and Chip Z’Nuff of the immortal Enuff Z’Nuff.

Tip to budding filmmakers: Putting a frame around inconsequential, hungover rambling about guys in bars or the contents of a smoothie does not make those moments important.

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