After copious amounts of heroin, Russell Brand decided his life had to have more meaning than just being an occasionally funny comedian who makes the same occasionally funny movie over and over again. Some people’s soul searching leads them to crude medical clinics in the Congo, for performers it’s either unintelligible indie films or writing op-ed pieces in the newspaper. Nobody rich really wants to soul search their way into a case of ebola.
Russell Brand doubled down on his spiritual awakening by granting a documentary team total access to his life for the past few years. Since the only thing people could possibly be interested in involving Brand’s spiritual journey was his short-lived marriage to Katy Perry, even the filmmakers are letting slip that that will form a solid bulk of the documentary content. Watching Brand stroke himself while reading Malcolm X will comprise the remaining eighteen percent of screen time.
For Katy Perry this means a ton of the unpleasant and real shit her publicity and legal team spend so many countless hours and money destroying in the virtual shredder will likely be onscreen. While marriage to Russell Brand has to be akin to shoving a rusty nails up your ass until you feel it whittling the back of your molars, word always was that Katy was a total cunty nightmare of a spouse. This doesn’t bode well for her. Brand makes his living off being an asswipe. Katy by pretending to be the exact opposite. I would not be surprised to see a horrible fire in the documentarians post-production facility that takes out all known copies off the footage. The only forensic clues left behind of brightly colored feathers and shreds of nipple tape.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI