Terence Nance's An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is an almost unendurably self-indulgent and burbling piece of lo-fi indie-autobiographical moviemaking, at the end of which there is surely not a square millimetre of the director's navel left ungazed at. Yet at the same time, there is something oddly revealing about it. It is developed from an earlier short film about the director's relationship issues with a certain beautiful woman, whom he prevails upon to appear on camera. Part of that short is incorporated into this longer feature in which personal issues are developed in a stream of droning voiceover babble. Nance's movie folds in on itself as he interviews the object of his affections, and discusses with her how she felt about the original short film, with interminable talk about emotions and love, like a nightmarish New York hipster version of Alain de Botton. Their relationship would appear to be basically at an end, and this film-making process is making any reunion away from the cameras unlikely. Is there a touch of neediness here? Finally, Nance himself cuts through the waffle and admits: "In layman's terms, I got 'friend-zoned'." Does the director realise his film is digging him deeper and deeper into the friend-zone?