Broomfield's ongoing investigation of the rotten underbelly of civilisation, LA-style, finally hits paydirt, exposing a quagmire of race politics, brute power, instant wealth, glamorised violence, tribalism, murder and denial. Conventional wisdom ascribes the unsolved homicides of gangster rappers Tupac Shakur (in 1996) and Biggie Smalls (a year later) to a tit-for-tat rap rivalry, and indeed one of the film's subplots is the slippery slope from posturing play to fatal reality. But Broomfield's main line of inquiry follows the allegations of ex-LAPD detective Russell Poole, who found evidence implicating corrupt fellow officers in both killings through their connections to Shakur's record label Death Row and its feared boss Suge Knight. Poole was removed from the case, but the film identifies, unlike the LAPD, the suspects and probable cause. Broomfield's patented deadpan guerilla doorstopping method gets results, turning up not only the usual menagerie of bizarre players and back-stories, but some counter moments of quiet wisdom and dignity.