I haven’t been paying a lot of attention to Joan Rivers lately. No one has. She’s painfully aware of this, and she will do literally anything to change it. That’s the core of this movie. Joan Rivers needs us to see her, to acknowledge her. The audience-shaped hole in her soul is so deep that 40 years of applause haven’t made a dent. Her drive for stardom is a marvel – Joanie gets down for hers. She may be the hardest working man in showbiz. She offers to wear a diaper, y’all. She offers to knock out some teeth so she can shill Poli-dent.

Her willingness to show us the warts and ill grace of her declining years is something to behold – and I have to admit it made me love her a bit. We get to spend some time in her apartment, which looks like it shares a decorator with Saddam Hussein and the Queen Mum. We get to see her interacting with her daughter, whose plastic surgery scars are slowly turning her into the same sort of elfin zombie creature Joan has become. They’ve both got Michael Jackson’s nose. I guess it was a gamble to let the filmmakers have such unfettered access to her life, and the honesty is bracing and humanizing.

Even if you don’t like setup-punchline comics, it’s hard to deny the force of nature Joan has become. She is a one-woman history of comedy, and I left hoping her gamble pays off. Time will drag her kicking and screaming from the red carpet eventually, but she’s imminently worthy of another moment in the spotlight. Check it out if it’s playing somewhere near you.