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Intriguingly well shot in a dark, dense style, the film is cleverly edited with graphics based on newspapers and maps that only add visual zing and place the film firmly in the period. There's also an excellent song score (that's only occasionally too-obvious), plus clever background music by Cliff Martinez. And performances are in the period style, slightly broad and nervous; think Angie Dickinson in Big Bad Mama and you're there! As a result, the film is quite cold. These are losers and junkies who are virtually impossible to identify with. The one decent person is played wonderfully by Kudrow--she really becomes the film's heart. There are also top actors in side roles, many against type, which adds an layer to the film's examination of celebrity gone horribly wrong. But perhaps the strangest thing is Cox's apparent obsession with drugs and violence, which are graphically and hideously depicted, while he seems squeamish and embarrassed about sex. This wastes the chance to honestly weave Holmes' career into the story. And while the Rashomon-like multiple versions of events are riveting, Cox's main misstep is to leave out real resonance. He efficiently tells a good story; we're gripped but we never care.