Having long been agnostic on the subject of James Toback's manly genius, I can't say that this whimsical HBO (mock?)-doc was a disappointment – merely a confirmation. Toback and Alec Baldwin team up to raise financing for a feature film that will transpose the eroticism of Last Tango in Paris to battle-scarred Iraq – or so they claim. So it's off to Cannes for a series of meetings with international money-men, interspersed with cosy conversations with their famous friends (Scorsese, Coppola, Bertolucci) and punctuated by what the makers presumably feel are funny/touching/profound personal vignettes. The revelations about Cannes (the glitz is tacky, the market is real) are all as old as the festival itself; the insights into the movie biz (art doesn't matter, stars do) are less than earth-shattering; even the overarching quasi-comic format is old hat, having been done far better by Morgan Spurlock in The Greatest Movie Ever Sold.

As for the slack-jawed reverence for Last Tango, when confronted with Marlon's most wanky utterances (farting pig's vomit indeed), all I can think of is Udo Kier in Flesh for Frankenstein satirically screaming: "To know death, Otto, you have to fuck life… in the gall bladder!"