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What starts out as an interesting commentary on the democratization of culture devolves into a mean-spirited diatribe in this well-shot documentary. Bill Drummond of the KLF, Hank Shocklee of Public Enemy, and Moby give insightful interviews; but of course the film-makers decide to add a little 'balance' to the movie by giving precious screen-time to arrogant blowhard Andrew Keen and some snob from Pitchfork. Sure, they have a point that the internet has given the untrained masses the ability to create what they think is art, and maybe what these amateurs create really isn't art. But that debate has gone on since humans painted on walls, and it isn't going to be settled today. What really chaps my hide about this film is that someone might actually listen to these snobs. If you have the desire to create crappy art, do it. Don't listen to these critics. It's been said that anyone can be pick up a camera and be a photographer, so therefore anyone with a master's degree in political science can be an art critic. Everyone has an opinion, and just because someone has a degree to back it up doesn't mean they're not a braying ass. How can you trust someone telling you that the only good music being made today is by a forlorn, bearded hipster strumming an acoustic guitar in an isolated cabin when the only music they think is good is by forlorn bearded hipsters strumming acoustic guitars in isolated cabins? Why should you trust an elitist talking about the imminent demise of a cultural economy and who then practically begs you to buy his book detailing the demise of a cultural economy? You shouldn't, so keep making those depressing albums about living in the woods because there's an infinitesimally small chance you just might come from nowhere and win a handful of Grammys (But let's be honest, you won't; and if you do, do you really want one? They gave one of those things to Milli Vanilli, and the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences market themselves as an authority on music.), and keep making those youtube videos where you skateboard down something steep and dangerous and crush your nuts on a railing, and keep making terrible monster movies where you can see the zipper in the rubber monster suit because maybe those things might make someone in the world happy and maybe that someone is you.