So I did it. I saw the Banksy movie at The Grand Cinema. Exit Through the Gift Shop was a work of genius. I think.

For those who haven't seen it, the film - which recently ended its run at The Grand - follows the escapades of the indie art world's current darlings - Brit bomber Banksy, Obey's Shepard Fairey, street-art siren Swoon, Space Invader, and the inimitable French art groupie-turned superstar, Mr. Brainwash. The film catalogues the rise and fall of each of these artists, dragging the viewer through the experiences of rogue graffiti artists, stencilers, wheatpasters and other modern art world "outsiders."

We get to see Shepard Fairey decorate hundreds of buildings. We get to see Banksy drop an effigy of Guantanamo Bay prisoners in Disneyland. And we get to watch Mr. Brainwash buy himself status and become an overnight art sensation via a ridiculously-overblown L.A. premier show. It was amazing - watching the work of these "legitimate" street artists and once reclusive anarchist vandals ground up and fed to art tourists. Watching Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt marvel at Banksy's centerpiece - an elephant painted to blend in with the venue's wallpaper - brought it all home. Then we get to watch as Thierry Guetta is transformed from a sort of street art groupie with a video camera into street art sensation Mr. Brainwash. Brainwash, with the help of a well-placed L.A. Weekly article, literally buys himself the status that took Fairey and Banksy years of treachery and risk to accomplish. With a staff and funds generated from mortgaging everything he owns, Mr. Brainwash becomes a superstar. It's perfect.

Banksy sums it up - "Maybe art is a joke."

Maybe my ass. I've never seen a work of art that made it so abundantly clear what makes art so funny. That's funny peculiar, just in case you were wondering. Banksy, a devoted recluse, has managed to say one of the most important things that can be said about art in the 21st century - you can't escape. Capital, the Machine, Babylon, DeBord's Spectacle, whatever you want to call it, will find you and make your art into a commercial-grade knock off, steal its aura - its so-called authenticity - and sell it to your friends. This is nothing new. It's not even that mysterious.

Diego Rivera (you know, Frida Kahlo's wife) was once asked by the granddaddy of the machine - Rockefeller himself - to paint a mural on commission. Rivera, a revolutionary artist in the extreme, took the job and made him a huge piece of communist agitprop, which Rockefeller then destroyed. Babylon wins.

However, some may note Rockefeller could have really screwed Rivera and his revolutionary artist buddies by not destroying the piece. He could have paid for it, displayed it, and turned it into "Art" - that toothless parasite of the interior decorator. That joke.

Since then, Banksy, Shepard Fairey and Mr. Brainwash have proven that even street art can become fodder for plastic L.A. art tourists. Hell, they may be responsible for it. 

Whatever the case: See the film. Bring tissues.

Joe Malik is a jaded, ornery, "power to the people type" that can't help but comment on all the stupid, awesome, or just plain questionable stuff he sees within the local arts community. Basically, he's kind of an arts-centric asshole - but we like him. The Weekly Volcano doesn't always agree with what he says, but we do enjoy stirring the pot.