Guest of Cindy Sherman

As soon as Guest of Cindy Sherman ended, I wanted to see it again for its high entertainment value and to determine better what I had just witnessed.

At once a fascinating behind-the-scenes glimpse, bittersweet autobiography and witty trip down art-world memory lane, Guest of Cindy Sherman isn't out to settle scores or exploit access, public or otherwise.

A highly entertaining evisceration and celebration of the milieu. It's also a fascinating, probably one-sided view of the artist herself.

If a doc manages to inform and entertain, it's ahead of the competition. If it features engaging personalities (or penguins), so much the better. And if it manages not to lose its assets while dipping its toe into murkier issues -- becoming, say, a brow-knitting thumb-sucker -- then it's really a work of art.

It all begins to feel tawdry, especially since Paul H-O never seems to realize that even though he wants everyone to know who he is, he’s never given a good reason why we should.

It's amazing that in an era of oversharing and reality TV, a doc consisting mostly of cable TV clips and personal reminiscences can be so resonant.

The documentary has its roots in a monologue in which the "guest of Cindy Sherman" (what H-O's place-card read at a gala) stood up for his personhood and made himself the center of the story—only there's NO STORY, not even insight into what made this unlikely couple click. Remove the boldface names and there's no movie; that center does not hold.