After seeing Being Michael Madsen on Saturday, I was guilty of thinking a mediocre movie had merit. I found myself muttering to a friend shortly thereafter, “I think it was a pretty effective recitation on fame and privacy and ...” I trailed off, unable to sustain an argument for which I knew I was about to be asked to provide evidence when there was none.
Being Michael Madsen is a mockumentary in which Michael Madsen plays not himself, but a fictionalized version of himself. He has a run in with a paparazzo, exacts revenge by hiring a documentary crew to out-paparazzi the tabloid photographer, and what the audience ends up watching is supposed to be a documentary about that fictional documentary.
And for this effort I'm only willing to dole out meta-points for what-could-have-beens and a litany of decent ideas poorly executed that I won't get into here. In-studio-interview-heavy and overacted in a way that Christopher Guest would probably cringe at, Being Michael Madsen was a chore to watch.
Sure, a few stellar seconds here and there from Virginia Madsen and Harry Dean Stanton (both personal favorites, both playing themselves, sort of) brought a smile to my face, but I just don't see this film playing well to anyone who lives outside the cat-and-mouse game the film attempts to mock. If it does get theatrical release, it will only be because a distribution exec has the money to invest in his own myopia. Which probably means it will hit multiplexes this spring. -- Sean Cronin
