By the last quarter of this turgid, unremitting virtual-monologue, I was in fear of losing my own marbles -- Joyce having clearly lost hers long ago. Pointing a camera at someone and letting them damn themselves with their own deluded waffle is not my idea of effective film making. Completely lacking in visual impact, this "film" might as well have been done on radio.
The supporting cast of tabloid creeps interviewed herein are enough to make one's skin crawl. Exploiting a crazy lady is neither funny nor clever so quite why the guy from The Daily Mirror appeared to be so proud of his machinations is beyond me.
I'd hoped for some deeper insight. I didn't get any. Only denial and madness. On this showing the woman needed to be sectioned. Too late now though. Far too late.
