The film really does do its job. This is to say that, in all honesty, it is a biographical documentary, not about a person, but about a composer. This is not about “Philip,” or “Phil.” It’s really about a musical establishment, a (now) welcomed, bizarre mode in the western musical canon.

The Glass family, Philip Glass, friends, colleagues as well as the process of composition take part in developing what ends up in the theater. It’s an extremely thorough look at Glass’s life, his development as an artist and a person, his time spent with other people like Ginsberg and Chuck Close, his personal philosophy and views on his work.

But of course, a serious complaint: after the one hour mark, the audience is treated to a half hour long section on Glass’ spirituality. Part mysticism, part Buddhism, part Jewish, part etc. etc. — fantastic parts, which unfortunately bog down the film. Yet while slowing the pace, it really does create a spectacular set-up for the following section.

After spending a quarter of the film delving into the serious and almost other-worldly mixed-spirituality of the cavalier Mr. Glass, we’re immediately shown a short clip of his current wife who has tears in her eyes. And who is in the midst of discussing the frustrating experiencing of being the fourth wife of a genius/workaholic. “It’s been nice, but...” is the affect of the short conversation.

And the personage of Philip Glass is brought back down to earth in an extremely poignant and mundane way. That’s a triumph. It’s nice, and infrequent, when a complaint can turn into a triumph. Still, I’m not sure if it works well enough to warrant the full two hours, especially since the film tracks, simultaneously, the life of the composer, as well as the conception and completion of his most recent work, the opera Waiting for the Barbarians.

Only the road that covers that terrain is hap hazardous and winding. I didn’t really want winding. Maybe someone does. But who cares about them. With a few more feats of editing, this would feel less like watching a life and more like watching a film or a documentary. Because we’re all honest people, we can all honestly say we’re not watching a life; we’re watching celluloid.

One last thing. Did I mention that he did the soundtrack to Candyman? No, I didn’t — but asking questions for rhetorical affect lets me continue to say that that’s very funny. It’s reminiscent of Brett Easton Ellis talking about how much he enjoys Steven King. It makes you sick at first, but you feel better when you realize you felt sick because they’ve unveiled your own pretensions. Or you feel worse. More “notable” soundtracks Glass has worked on include The Thin Blue Line, Kundun, The Hours, and Koyaanisqatsi.

“Philip does existential dread better than anyone else,” goes a quote from the film. And I agree. Although the quote was meant in that he “does existential dread” like no one else in the context of his film scores, I’d have to say that he does it better than most artists even when his entire list of work is being used to judge the question.

So, among the gripes and insanity you’ve just read, you should pick up on a fact which I’ll now repeat for emphasis: see this film. Preferably within the next few days; the Arclight is the sole source of distribution in LA, and it’s only in theaters for the next week. But while you’re at it, make it a double feature and somehow watch Candyman by renting it or catching it on TNT. Then pretend like you understand.

Story by Greg Sidman.