Not entirely, however.

The show, which was filmed and broadcast live to the world on Pitchfork Media's site, was also recorded for a documentary. The film, Shut Up and Play The Hits, is premiering at this year's Sundance Film Festival. And the trailer was just released this afternoon:

A website for the film is also now live. Color us excited: No show since, in our estimation, has quite matched the excitement of this one in the year that's followed.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

This may not be as terribly insane as it seems. (Though it does seem pretty random, not to mention biased: giving an outside organization the power to wield a nomination verdict conclusively is actually unheard of.) Despite the rise of DIY film making and festival showcases, it's true that both Times do an admirable job reviewing most documentaries of note--one could make an argument that The New York Times actually skews towards the more esoteric form of film-making because traditionally documentaries have been considered "high-brow" films.

So this shouldn't be a problem, right?

Wrong! Because on top of this arbitrary Times review stipulation, there is an even more arbitrary addendum that the review can't have been written by a Times' television writer. (Sorry, Alessandra Stanley.) What about freelance stringers? Or reviews that only appeared online, or in capsule form?

Let's just call this what it is: the fate of the Best Documentary Award now rests entirely in the hands of A.O. Scott. Rule wisely, Mr. Scott, and rule well.

Professional car racing, like any dangerous sport, tends to attract people who are daring, confident and skilled. Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian Formula One driver who died at the age of 34 during the 1994 San Marino Grand Prix, was no different. Strikingly handsome, charming and ambitious, Senna makes for a captivating screen presence—an ill-fated matinee idol striding purposefully toward his untimely death in endless, fuzzy clips of archival footage. But while he lived quite literally in the fast lane, the new documentary about his life, which won the World Cinema Audience Award at Sundance in January, drags. Senna’s accomplishments are impressive, but his story seems more suited to an ESPN special than a feature-length film. As long stretches of reverent but irrelevant footage unspool onscreen, it’s hard not to wonder, Why now? Why him?

Senna was born in São Paulo into a wealthy family. Naturally athletic and gear-headed, he began go-kart racing at age 13. But director Asif Kapadia doesn’t dwell on these early years, leaping instead to the 1984 Monaco Grand Prix that established Senna as a rising star of the Formula One franchise. In driving rain, Senna recovered from a slow start in “a car that was not going to win races” to pass every competitor on the track, including frontrunner Alain Prost—although a red flag caused final positions to default to an earlier lap, in which Prost was still leading. Senna took second place in Monaco, but went on to win six Grands Prix over the next three seasons, after which he joined Mr. Prost on the McLaren team (in Formula One, drivers partner with car manufacturers, sort of like baseball franchises, except that in racing members of the same “team” are still in competition with each other).

In the case of Senna and Prost, the competition was particularly bitter, and a good half of the film is devoted to the rivalry between the two racing stars. At the 1988 Portuguese Grand Prix, Senna almost forced Prost off the track, resulting in a warning from the FIA. The following year, at the Japanese Grand Prix, the two men collided on an escape road after Prost cut off his teammate on a sharp turn. Senna rejoined the race and won, only to be disqualified by the FIA for skipping a small portion of the track in his attempt to get his car into the pit for repairs. His license was suspended for six months and he was forced to pay a $100,000 fine. The footage used in the film strongly suggests that this disqualification was a direct result of a complaint by Prost.

The diminutive Frenchman certainly looked the part of the antagonist, even if his motives fell short of true malice. Standing a good six inches shorter than the strapping Senna, with a crooked nose and sad, watery eyes, Mr. Prost had no chance of upstaging the handsome Brazilian no matter how many races he won. But despite Mr. Kapadia’s best efforts, the rivalry never reaches the dramatic heights necessary to justify the amount of time he spends recapping it.

It doesn’t help that Senna appears to have had no other struggles on or off the race track. He loved his family, dated a string of models and generally enjoyed the adoration of the masses. He gave money to help poor children and continually expressed his deep faith in God. There were no injuries, no arrests, no drugs, no torrid affairs—none of the kinds of things that celebrity documentaries feed off of. And while Senna’s early death certainly qualifies him as a tragic, almost mythical hero, there is simply not enough material to make a compelling movie, even though Mr. Kapadia appears to have used every last frame of footage from the Formula One archives (there is, literally, not a single second of Senna that takes place in modern day, as interviews are presented as voice-overs, often, and to somewhat confusing effect, with subtitles).

A few sequences almost make up for the rest of the film’s lack of momentum. First, Senna’s emotional hometown win at the Brazilian Grand Prix in 1991 is made all the more heartbreaking by the fact that, thanks to painful muscle spasms, he can barely lift his trophy over his head. And the extended build-up to his fatal last race on May 1, 1994, finally jump-starts the dramatic tension that Senna so desperately needs—over an hour too late.

The days leading up to the crash seem overwhelmingly ominous in retrospect. On April 29, Rubens Barrichello, a fellow Brazilian driver, crashed during a qualifying session, breaking his nose and arm. On April 30, in another qualifying round, Austrian driver Roland Ratzenberger was killed when his car careered into a concrete wall. Senna was visibly devastated by these accidents, and his then-boss Frank Williams (of Williams-Renault, the team to which Senna switched after McLaren) recalls in a voice-over that he told Senna to quit and go fishing.

In footage from the day of the crash, Senna looks troubled as he gets into his car—he clearly had reservations about going through with the race—and knowing what comes next makes it hard to watch. Point-of-view footage taken from inside Senna’s car is used throughout the film, but when Mr. Kapadia uses it here it is particularly disturbing. As the car whines down the San Marino course at breakneck speed, there is nothing to do but wince, preparing for the moment of impact.

If only the rest of the movie were half as gripping.

Running time: 106 minutes

Written by Manish Pandey

Directed by Asif Kapadia

Starring Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, Frank Williams

2/4

ulamarche@observer.com

Inside, the Observer waited to collect a press ticket for Justin Bieber: Never Say Never, sure to be a movie worth waiting for. Not before, though, getting cut in line by Spike Lee, in a Knicks cap. Lee brushed off both our own stunned attempts to start a conversation and a theater employee's greeting, "Hey, man, I'll try to do the right thing."

"This is for Scooter," Lee said, pressing a package into a publicist's hands. "Make sure he gets this. And tell him it's from Spike!" He floated out of the theater, unmolested by the teens who'd already gotten in with their well-coiffed parents. (On Tuesday, Bieber Tweeted about his premiere, noting the location and saying "....maybe Spike Lee will come. Spike Lee is the man." Bieber was born the year Crooklyn was released.)

Scooter is Scooter Braun, the record executive and manager responsible for Bieber's career, a onetime so-called "party promoter" whose duties on this evening included introducing the party to a group of tweens (and nonplussed critics) impatient for the film to begin on schedule. Braun seemed familiar with the crowd, telling jokes about the Toronto premiere the night before and introducing Island Def Jam executives as they entered, late. "We love you, Scooter!" scattered girls yelled, and they weren't joking. They did!

Bieber himself entered, at long last, once the Island executives were seated. He handed off a cup of soda to an assistant and said "Wassup." The crowd was, based on the Observer's expectations, well-behaved, probably because they'd been told they'd be removed if they came close to him, or used cameras at all. Or maybe their energy had been sapped during Braun's presentation. To buy into Bieber fandom, one must know his entourage. Bieber's "swagger coach" did the Dougie, to the delectation of the non-critic half of the audience. Scooter allowed the film's director, Jon Chu, to say one word before laughing and pulling the mic away. Though he was, in time, allowed to finish his introduction of his own film, this wasn't the director's show.

In one of Braun's innumerable talking-head interviews in the film, he raises a compelling argument against the probability of Bieber's success: the absence of a giant media apparatus behind him—he did not have a Nickelodeon, like Selena Gomez, or a Disney, like Miley Cyrus or the Jonas Brothers. (Miley does a duet in the movie, looking like she could eat Bieber alive; a critic seated next to the Observer mentioned that the Jonases' 2009 concert film hadn't had nearly the pomp of this screening. No indoor red carpet, for one thing.) But he has been able to promote Bieberworld by his use of social networking (documented throughout the film, in 3D). During the film, each new member of the entourage's first appearance merited a cheer, particularly Braun, who acts as a de facto narrator. Concertgoers cheer an act—concert-film-goers cheer an apparatus.

And yet rarely does it all seem so naked! Certainly, without getting too specific about the details of Bieber's not-yet-released film, Madonna's Truth or Dare (for instance) was more ambivalent on the subject of its subject's ambition, or at least made a bigger show of thinking about it. Bieber, we learn, wants to sing professionally; there is nothing more to see here, except a number of gratuitous, uncomfortable shirtless sequences. Braun talks to the camera perhaps three times as much as does Bieber: about his act's "underdog" nature, and the role everyone in the entourage plays.

Something more clear and hard than just singing is at stake here. For without mass recognition, Bieber's singing was just juvenilia -- unformed in terms of persona, he's defined by the fantasies of his fans. During an archival video of Bieber's first recording, the audience was mute while their hero hit the high notes but shrieked when consigliere Usher entered the studio and told the camera that Bieber would be a huge success. Fame itself is the star, it seems; Bieber just the vehicle.

The movie ended, leaving the Observer with more questions than when we'd entered. For one, wasn't the movie's notion of following one's dreams a bit misplaced, given the number of tween girls interviewed whose only dream is to marry Bieber? (No matter—they have Taylor Swift to teach them ambition.) Over the end credits, Bieber announced that he would play a new song for the crowd. After the song started, the Observer ran out of the room, discarding 3D glasses somewhere. Then the screaming began. We could hear it from the subway entrance across the street, the screaming. Somewhere, for Justin and for Scooter, the girls scream still.

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

CNBC says the hour-long special, hosted by David Faber, will probe Goldman's "tightly knit corporate culture of extraordinarily driven professionals." For some reason, CNBC camera crews have traveled to Cleveland to hear from critics of the firm. (We're betting that the footage will create a striking contrast between the lives of Goldman traders and those of the "everyday" Midwesterners CNBC talks to.)

The documentary will also explore well-known connections between Goldman Sachs and Wall Street and poses the question as to whether Goldman's D.C. connections have given it an unfair leg up during the financial crisis.

Also on TV Wednesday night at 9: "Law & Order SVU," "Modern Family," "Criminal Minds," "Hellcats," "Hell's Kitchen" and "Friday Night Lights." If you get bored halfway through the Goldman documentary, Cougar Town starts at 9:30.

mtaylor@observer.com

Twitter: @mbrookstaylor