I wasn’t immediately keen on seeing this film. I’ve watched “street art” docs before and they’re usually fawning affairs – jerky editing over fast tracks to capture the “edginess” of the artists and their work. But this is not that film. It is, as stated, a “street art disaster movie.”

Exit Through The Gift Shop is set in the world of street art but is actually a timeless, quasi-Shakespearian tale of betrayal, and, as such, entertaining as hell. Much to my surprise Banksy & co have made an extremely well-crafted, classic documentary with a compelling and tightly edited narrative arc.

That arc follows one Thierry Guetta, an eccentric Frenchie who has chameleoned from family man and vintage clothing shop owner to international street artist. When we first meet him he is an obsessive video enthusiast – he films EVERYTHING, from his kids to his own face in the mirror to chance los angeles encounters with celebs. His shamelessness seems a bit wacky but harmless. In a strange twist of luck he chances upon the emerging street art scene through his cousin, Space Invader, who glues mosaic videogame-like characters on buildings, corners, wherever. Thierry starts following his cousin on his nightly rounds and of course filming his installations. This proves his entree into what will soon be a global (and commercial) art movement.

Thierry becomes obsessed with rising street artist Banksy and eventually begins following and filming him as well. Thierry has built up some sort of tepid street cred, and like him or not his cache of footage is certainly the most complete record of their work that exists. Mostly, though, the artists grant him access (and presumably tolerate his fanboy obsession) because they think he’s making a documentary. His two closest subjects, Shepard Fairey and Banksy, see the value and potential in Thierry’s footage and encourage the project, even becoming friends with the guy along the way. But when Banksy sees a rough cut of Thierry’s film the awful truth sinks in – Thierry’s a hack. He shoots out of compulsion, not any sort of aesthetic or narrative principle (the bins of 1000s of unlabeled tapes are an editor’s nightmare). Banksy hopes to salvage the film himself, and to get Thierry off his back he sends him to L.A. to do some of “his own” art.

In a fascinating turn we watch Thierry morph from sycophantic follower to Iago-like villain. His ego inflates like a zeppelin and he sinks all he has into an artist workshop and ginormous solo show, working under the stupid name Mr. Brainwash (I have to wonder, where the hell was his wife during all of this??). His work is shit, meta in its derivative tastelessness. Mr. Brainwash bites every hand that has fed him – Banksy, Shep, even Warhol – and has assistants churn out “street art” pieces as if they’re Urban Outfitters tees. There’s no talent, thought, or wit in his work, but he grows ever more narcissistic and grandiose in his rhetoric. The kicker? His show is a massive success and nets him not only the attention and validation he was craving, but a cool million and commercial contracts.

In the end Banksy and Shepard muse, honestly, on their role in creating the Thierry monster. There’s a glimmer of genuine hurt, as well as a healthy dose of ironic humor – after all this is the bullshit artworld and it’s fever-pitch game. But the real players know what’s up. He can switch mediums but a hack is a hack is a hack.