This is possibly the most boring, pointless, and irritating "documentary" I have ever watched, and that's a highly competitive category in recent years. The film's subject, who fills 85% of the film's screen time with his endless blabbing, is a smarmy, narcissistic attention hog, whose stream-of-consciousness monolog may or may not contain a grain of truth. The supposed "exotic" mystery woman at the heart of the film's story arc is shown only in a grainy, pixellated, blurry photo of her rather chubby-cheeked face (which occupies another 10% of screen time). After 90 minutes of viewing, we know nothing more about either the film's subject, who turns out to be a garden variety cocaine smuggler clueless enough to get caught early on in his career, or his mystery woman (who in my humble opinion probably doesn't exist) than we did at the film's opening. On the plus side, we've just spent an hour and a half listening to an inept criminal spin self-aggrandizing yarns - and now it's over. Maybe the film's auteurs thought of it as an art piece? It's assuredly not.