All I Can Say

*** Profound intimacy runs throughout Shannon Hoon's home video archive-turned-documentary, but it's not due to footage of the late Blind Melon singer's newborn baby, or laying down the "No Rain" vocal track or spying on Neil Young through an air vent. It's democratized time that creates the closeness. Hoon playfully but obsessively recorded his life between 1990 and 1995—a span in which he evolved from an Indiana ne'er-do-well to alt-rock icon to Icarian tragedy. The catalog unfurls into a timeline of elation, failure and boredom that most Hollywood editors would dice into a 45-second touring montage. Even more meaningful, the audience can feel how time sped up for Hoon himself. Through Rolling Stone covers and rehab stints, he recorded his life almost daily with the intention of watching the tapes back later for clarity. While this doc will obviously carry deeper meaning for Blind Melon fans, any viewers will appreciate the snapshot of the era, which doubles as a glimpse of how the diary method changes the diary. Any approximation of All I Can Say in 2020 would directly or indirectly nod to the fans. In a trip back to 1992, though, we can experience the thrilling and ugly disembodiment of being truly uninvited. NR. CHANCE SOLEM-PFEIFER.