It’s the fucking bible.
This genuinely didn’t change how I approach Showgirls—if anything, it underscored my knotty assessment of the film. But this documentary wisely isn’t about the film itself: it’s about the way the film has a cipher-like quality and, as such, can be high camp to one person and absolute diarrhea to the next. As such, it succeeds as a piece of criticism about film criticism. If Verhoeven and Berkeley and the rest of the cast and crew disagree about the meaning of…