This tale of a motorcycle odyssey gone wrong remains timeless for its diagnosing of the early stages of a social ennui that’s now fully bloomed.
Phil Spector’s nominal entertainment value proceeds almost entirely from its status as an explosive camp object.
After this, Ringo’s gonna need Werner Herzog to make his life story interesting.
That the film shines scant illuminating light on Harrison’s story is all the more frustrating for its immense length.
The spine of the film exposes the subject’s overweening ego, long-held personal grudges, and monumental paranoia.