Stephen Kessler's projection of loserdom

I was so repulsed by Stephen Kessler's doc to such an extent I distrusted my own judgement and watched it a second time to confirm my revulsion. I was expecting something along the lines of "Who Is Harry Nilsson?", in which Williams himself participates as one of the talking heads reminiscing about Nilsson. That doc was informative and entertaining, with a good overview of Nilsson's career, works, and personal life, and I actually wept a bit as it ended. But Kessler is not content to make what he dismisses as "PBS documentaries" and opted to turn this into "The Paulie and Steve Show" upon Paul Williams' suggestion. The results are disastrous, with Kessler determined to make a film about a has-been clutching at his past with no interest in the direction Williams' life has taken since he hit bottom in the 80's then went into a sober new direction. This is also not the doc to see if you are unfamiliar with Williams' 70's output as it confines its attention to a few signature hits but ignores some of Williams' more interesting and enduring works. "Phantom of the Paradise", one of Williams' best screen roles and music scores, receives only a throwaway mention. Kessler seems fascinated by the paradoxes of Williams' public persona: how he could win an Oscar for Evergreen one day and the very next rush off to skydive in Circus of the Stars (footage of the latter is used unflatteringly as the final shot of the film). The "climax" of the film is its most obscene moment but oddly the most fascinating, with Kessler showing the latter-day Williams a coked-out version of himself guest hosting The Merv Griffin Show around 1980. What is the point of showing him this embarrassing moment from his past? Any alcoholic or drug addict who hits bottom no doubt has similar embarrassing moments, though most don't do it in the public limelight like Williams. This man has thankfully moved on, has a great family he loves, and has stayed working though without his 70's ubiquity. Kessler treats him like a loser, jokes about the smaller venues Williams plays to now, frames him unflatteringly, and makes the already-diminutive Williams appear even smaller than he is. But Williams is an uncooperative subject and ends up proving the only loser on display is Kessler. I wanted a nice old-fashioned "PBS documentary" about a highly visible 70's icon. What I got was a postmodernist meditation on the ephemeral nature of fame in which the filmmaker displays total disrespect for his subject while masquerading as a fan.