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Roughly translated, Inglourious Basterds means an old, shameful unpleasantry, like a vegetarian who is tricked into once again swallowing a piece of beef. Tarantino plays devil's advocate, the person playing the practical joke, who puts the beef in the stew, thinking that if we are conscious of what we intake we will be aware of the tomfoolery. If not then our blindness will lead us to the immorality we strive against, in this case, that meat is murder.

He is telling the audience to not be a pushover, to stand up for what you believe in, and to not be scorned by ignorance. The last line, "This just might be my masterpiece," is a mathematically crafted answer, his "Therefore, QED" statement that tries to answer sets of matrices. It takes a well trained eye to calculate the numbers as they grow exponentially throughout. This is no test problem, more so a bonus question. It reads, "Solve the differential equation," and the answer demystifies a single stereotype that math teachers can only hope to demolish in students brains, "That math has no application in the real world."

Conan O'Brien Can't Stop falls short of calling itself a movie. The man is brilliantly hilarious, but as a documentary film it fails miserably to deliver the intended message that he so eloquently stated to the camera: that no one has any idea what the true side of him is like, and that this documentary aims to develop the true Conan.

We follow a moody man who can best be described as "post-Conan." His crazy sense of humor still remains, but a dark sided, profanity wielding, beard wearing man now inhabits the body of a once innocent, clean shaved, late night talk show host. He takes us behind the stage of his tour across the country, invites us to listen to his music, and shows us the deep connection he has with his fans. This can all be understood in the first few minutes of the movie, and what follows is a wash, rinse, and repeat cycle.

This excuse for a documentary is made for die hard fans who are willing to put up with a cynical man in the midst of his catharsis in order to get laughs from his degrading wise cracks. I cannot help but empathize with the idea of the comedian who night in and night out purges himself with a smile plastered on his face that no one can see through. It is clear that what we know of Conan is just the tip of the iceberg, and underneath the surface lurks a wounded monster.