'Selena Gomez: My Mind & Me' review: This raw, messy pop documentary tackles mental illness head-on

Just as one might say that every anti-war film is always inevitably a call to arms, every documentary that promises an unvarnished look into the private life of a mega-famous pop star is inevitably always a mouthpiece for the personality of its subject. Mark. And yet, a small handful of them are sincere and curious enough to also become something more at the same time. “Miss Americana” tapped into Taylor Swift’s stardom in an arena-sized portrayal of self-doubt in the digital age, while “The World’s a Little Blurry” swirled Billie Eilish’s searing stardom in a richly insightful coming-of-age epic. Both of these films were raw and revealing in a way that made them feel unfiltered, even if the goal of ordering them was to reclaim the narrative for their respective subjects.

Now it's Selena Gomez's turn, and after her public struggles with lupus, bipolar disorder and Justin Bieber, it's no surprise she can lay her soul bare with the best of between them. Directed by Alek Keshishian – who pretty much invented this entire subgenre with “Madonna: Truth or Dare” over 30 years ago – “Selena Gomez: My Mind & Me” follows a similar pattern to its predecessors and serves primarily as a chance for the cherubic "Love You to Love Me" singer to set the record straight on the various issues outsiders have used to define her.

The film may not really be an advertisement for any particular album or tour (it devotes more time to Gomez's philanthropy than its music, and doesn't even mention "Only Murders in the Building"), but he does a great job of selling you the person of Gomez, his humanity and the generosity of his spirit.

However, where "My Mind & Me" differs from other similar documentaries is in its unresolved mess. In part, that's because the project's basic premise blew off the launch pad when the "Revival" tour Keshishian was hired to shoot in 2016 was canceled after 55 performances due to Gomez's depression and of its underlying causes. To the filmmaker's and his subject's credit, Keshishian returned to the project once Gomez got back on his feet, and his film documents the time lapses with powerful bursts of talking-head testimonials from the singer's loved ones (mostly on dealing with her illnesses and getting her the treatment she needed).

The film that "My Mind & Me" ultimately became isn't a touring documentary at all, but rather an unsupervised glimpse into how Gomez rebuilt herself after her own depression. Where Swift and Eilish's docs charted narratively satisfying trajectories — their stories healing old wounds into new triumphs — Gomez is (elegantly) cobbled together from spare parts, its nominal tension derived from a shared fear that the center will not hold. It's not so much a film about healing as it is a film about learning about pain in the healthiest way possible. And if his diaristic, upside-down approach has the strange effect of keeping us at bay (obfuscating the details of Gomez's distress behind Insta poetry like "How can I learn to breathe my own breath?" and the whispered Malickian prayers like "Why have I become so far from the light?"), it also invites its most vulnerable young viewers to appreciate that even their favorite superstar is still fighting to be closer to her.



That being said, "My Mind & Me" makes it clear that Gomez is very conflicted with the youthfulness of her audience, and the permanent youthfulness that her Disney past and teenage demo have draped over her in return. Gomez is a 30-year-old woman who has been dealing with completely grown-up issues for some time. It's fascinating to watch her dance around the disconnect from her self-image when she vetoes a stage outfit to make her look like a 12-year-old boy or pokes fun at a photo shoot look that made her look felt like I was back on "The Wizards of Waverly Place" ("I look like a fucking witch," she grimaces, "remaking the wand").

This is even more true in times when this dynamic is clear but unspoken; there's nothing particularly immature about the crisis of confidence she's having before the first of those tour dates in 2016 - who wouldn't freak out in that situation? - but the support she receives from her team suggests that a parent soothes her child more than a record company supporting its star client. How are you supposed to grow up in an environment...