See the film here
by Brandon Colvin
It is the second collaboration between Spike Jonze and Kanye West.
It is a portrait of the artist as a forlorn failure, a charismatic creep, a self-hating superstar.
It is a feverish, fickle-focused fiction about fantasy, fucked-upness, and frustration.
It is a dreamlike documentary of digital-age debauchery, of a drunken dude in debonair duds desperately clinging to the final shards of his identity.
It is auto-tuned lyrics, cultural convergence, and sweating strangers shrugging off the awkward advances of a semi-suicidal, seppuku-committing icon of media megalomania.
It is NewTube.
It is a performer performing a performance of himself as a performer performing.
It is Kanye’s stilted slurrings and their amateur-professional truth.
It is the dancefloor tears that slyly suggest both autobiography and shameless solipsism.
It is confetti blood.
It is Godard.
It is a seriously shocking ending, for once.
It is the sincerity in such an ending, for once.
It is what I expect from the director of Adaptation.
It is a poem.
It is easily one of the best films of 2009.