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You’ll be throwing your arms up in dismay at Chris Waitt, the director and subject of this doc about why this scruffball’s love life is a total disaster. Draw your own conclusions. As a multiple-choice exercise, it could read: 1) he’s self-obsessed with an inability to see the world through the eyes of others; 2) he has an unhealthy relationship with his mother; 3) he’s emotionally neutered; 4) all of the above.
Unfortunately, answers 1 and 3 limit the empathy and vision needed to be anything more than an adequate filmmaker; nevertheless, Waitt’s diary-like, rough-and-ready film trots along merrily enough as a one-gag pony, even though you’d be crazy to believe the spontaneity and naivety on which it claims to ride. It begins as an amusing idea: let’s visit all the girlfriends who’ve dumped me over the years. Let’s trawl through old love letters with long-suffering mum Hilary. And let’s kick off a series of new dates via MySpace.
That’s where the goodwill runs out. In apparent desperation at a lack of material, Waitt latches on to newly diagnosed erectile dysfunction for company, but even that becomes a joke when he necks five Viagras. There’s something truly tragic about his encounter with Vicky, an ex who’s now pregnant but for whom Waitt claims still to harbour affection. And whatever Waitt’s ‘individual’ qualities, his film sparks a few thoughts about the transience of love and its sheer oddness when sometimes viewed in retrospect.