Malarkey is the best word to describe this trashy film. Presenting itself as a documentary on one man's search for love in LA (yawn), the film is even more about the trials of trying to get this movie finished. Myles Berkowitz in the man in charge here. He wrote it, stars in it, and directs the film. To say that his presence is unpleasant is being nice. I cannot imagine anyone finding this guy attractive, and yet the film never shows that either. Knowing beforehand that most of this picture was staged doesn't help the matter any better. Berkowitz never mentions that part of his film is faked. Although I usually don't care about cursing in films, I couldn't help but be very sickened that such a light-hearted movie would have such a plethora of F-words. Most of the people on-screen are dreadful human beings, and I question Berkowitz to why he must follow a dream that he so obviously isn't cut out for. It's like being nail-gunned to a wall at a party you cannot bear. The best moments are suspiciously off camera, which might be accounted for in the "I made this up" part of the documentary. Loathsome to say the least, I hope Berkowitz never gets behind a camera again.-------- 1
