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That’s what passes for a personal revelation in a documentary that affects the tone of a diary (Grande’s scattered annotations scribble across the screen every once in a long while), but comes off more like a bit of empty fan service that’s desperately trying to disguise itself as something more sincere.Ĭhris Rock's 'Selective Outrage' Is an Hour of Buzzwords, 7 Minutes on Will Smith, and Nothing Special By that measure, Grande’s own Netflix showcase, “excuse me, I love you,” is nothing more than a harmless dose of pop doc porn.ĭirector Paul Dugdale’s tribute is so explicitly a fans-only affair identifies Grande’s mom with a subtitle that reads “need we say more.” It opens with the sound of screaming fans, ends with the sound of screaming fans, and peaks with the pop star relating a story about how all of her dogs started having explosive diarrhea while she was on a FaceTime call with Kristin Chenoweth.

It was also quite good, and shaped into the flattering but fair-minded portrait of a young woman at war with her own self-worth on the world stage.

The Netflix production provided a template for how mega-singers could weaponize major streaming platforms into carrying their water for them it showed them how the promise of intimacy was enough to eventize old tour footage into something that felt more candid than a commercial, and yet not so big that it would have to compete with the “break the internet” spectacle of a new Beyoncé special. Taylor Swift’s “Miss Americana” was the exception to pop star documentaries that proved the rule.

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