Featuring the heroic Harry Sheerer. Plus Fred Willard is a genius. This satire about Hollywood, etc., is pretty perfectly crafted. The framing and cutting are completely conventional, but the conventions are interestingly exposed by their double use—in Home for Purim, and in the erstwhile making of. (Actually, it’s not a making of. It’s D.A. Pennebaker’s Company!) It goes to show, or remind us, that conventions really do work, which is why you can’t just always dismiss them. The performances are also really exact, really admirable. There’s comic exaggeration, but except for Eugene Levy—who can’t seem to ever pull back—everything is still within the realm of possibility. Kind Hearts and Coronets, maybe. Still, it crosses the mind that there’s not really a point, or a gain. A narcissistic, self-regarding industry remains intact after exercises like this. In fact, exercises like this are actually kind of narcissistic and self-regarding.