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Ultimately, this is your basic talking heads documentary, interspersed with footage that redefines cinematic cool.

Elegy is well acted by both the lead and the supporting actors, which helps in carrying the emotional load of the film forward.

Bertoglio once took pictures of moody guys and sexy girls. “We were all ego maniacs and drug addicts,” he says. “That’s a bit of a problem.”

The nature of Harry Dean Stanton means that no documentary is ever going to get underneath his skin, yet director Sophie Huber does manage to crack his defensive wall on occasion.

Whether it bores you or you fall in love really depends on how amenable you are to camp.

The performances break your heart, not because the subject matter has a built in Love Story factor, but because they are so good.

The editing is sloppy, the message blurred, or non-existent.

What stands out about this film is how deftly it explores character through anecdote.

A self-important, prosaic and ill-defined artistic tableau.

For me the film promised to truly shock and yet I felt somehow cheated as it unravelled.

Nothing else has captured quite so succinctly the dynamics of the information revolution or its impact on what it means to be human.