Overheard in the ladies room after yesterday's press screening of Caveh Zahedi's I Am A Sex Addict:

Woman #1: I can't imagine any woman putting up with the hooker thing.
Woman #2: Yeah, but do you really think those were his real girlfriends?
Woman  #1: Oh, well, yeah - I have no idea how that guy got those girls to date him.

When Super Size Me came out last year, and made a bunch of money and won a bunch of awards, I remember thinking, "Huh. So in order for the first-person documentary to hit the mainstream, it had to go political." Caveh Zahedi has been making his all-about-me pictures for years with very little success, and whilst a lot of people seem to attribute this failure to Zahedi's personal irksomeness (I don't think anyone has any idea how he got those girls to date him), I think it has more to do with the overall solipsism he traffics in. He's not just irksome - he draws you into his irksomeness, and then he won't let you out. Some people  suffocate under his neuroses; some of us can't get enough of Caveh's World. And that's the thing: there is no "real world" outside of "Caveh's World" - even when, as in I Don't Hate Las Vegas Anymore, the whole point of the film is to connect to something larger than himself, Caveh gets impatient waiting for the universe to reveal itself and just takes Ecstasy instead.

Which is why it's rather fascinating, then, that Zahedi's latest film is about the various ways that his real-life inability to live outside of his own fantasy world has totally ruined his life.