I'm Still Here (2010)

    The existence of Casey Affleck’s pseudo-documentary about the disintegration of real life celebrity Joaquin Phoenix bears more significance than the content of the film itself.  Despite consistent efforts to suggest that the public at large was uncertain about Phoenix’s abrupt career change, only the most gullible of all would have believed what is now being called an elaborate hoax.  For many it has come as a big surprise the Affleck announced the documentary as false.
    The piece itself is inherently self-conscious.  It includes snippets of Phoenix’s public appearances as the Unabomber that seemed to mark the arrival of aspiring R&B artist JP.  The star constantly refers to the film as it is being made, and it addresses all the questions that the public had while it was being made.  In a world of post-modern media, plagued by reality television and Jackass inspired stunts, this film fits in, and is doubtless inspired by both.  Phoenix, as both star and character, is aware of what is happening both in and out of the film.  The character is conscious of the perhaps poor decisions precluding and following his acting status.  Naturally, he numbs his woes in cocaine and hookers.
    I don’t mean to suggest that no thought went into a film with such obvious immaturity.  The fact of the matter is, however, that this creative team had a chance to come up with something absolutely fascinating.  And those that have the desire will admire the Borat-inspired renegade.  And certainly Phoenix’s near self-loathing and acknowledgment thereof is neither anything to shake a stick at, nor something that other actors would be very willing to commit themselves to.
    Thus the concept and execution of the film is intriguing; very meta in story and natural in capture.  It is a plausible if not believable story of the collapse of a figure so steadfastly projected in the public eye that everything they do becomes significant.  Our celebrity culture celebrates just such acts of celebrity as pretending to be yourself for a documentary about your own collapse.  Social commentary or self-promotion?  I will say that I have confidence in both creative minds to be conscious of just what they were doing.
    When you get to the film itself, though, it seems rather drab.  Phoenix is overweight, verbally abusive, mentally jumbled.  His new pastime is getting high, whining in self-importance, and trying to get P. Diddy to produce his album.  Not the biggest of deals.  So when we examine the arena surrounding the film, that it is shrouded in uncertain truth (and inherently autobiographical to some extent), that it is real or not real, that we cannot pin down and define it easily, the whole project takes on more significance.  Unfortunately for the duo, Banksy’s Exit Through the Gift Shop does it so much better.