Failed pop star. The soul of The Auteurs and Black Box Recorder reconstructs the purgatory of his career in a hilarious testimony that craps all over every aspect of the pop music business. Irony, ideas, misanthropy, self-sabotage… Oh, and a shitload of dissing.
Failed pop star. The soul of The Auteurs and Black Box Recorder reconstructs the purgatory of his career in a hilarious testimony that craps on every aspect of the pop music business. Those on the prowl for public relations and commercial potential have come to the wrong place. Haines is a notorious party-pooper, a wet blanket at awards ceremonies, and a sourpuss-that-sulks-in-the-corner. To relate his tragic-comic saga, director Niall McCann organizes a perfidious puzzle filled with talking heads: Jarvis Cocker, Stewart Home, David Peace... (or, as Haines puts it: “people who pretend they have met me”), unforgettable quips by the disgusted composer (“To hell with the common people”, “Britpop never existed”), and a script that resembles Winterbottom gone punk: actors that aspire to walk in Haines’ shoes, frozen images, surprising turns, and historical tiffs. The result of all this is an antsy and gob-smacking film (to the degree it will make you turn to the dude sitting next to you and say “Is this for real?”) about the most misanthropic (“They can’t write a review of me without saying misanthrope”), brilliant, and acidic cynic of British pop.
Niall McCann is an Irish director that’s so obscure he doesn’t even have an IMDB entry, and to top it off, he shares his name with a notorious TV adventurer. This hasn’t stopped him from debuting with one of the most caustic films of the season.