Banksy and friends must have mined for ages to extract the glistening artifacts that form the backbone of this documentary. Tracing the roots of street art through the constant eye of amateur filmographer Thierry Guetta, it's a legit, vivid encapsulation of the thoughts that formed a global movement's shared ideals.

Guetta, whose branching connections to the scene are nothing short of amazing, captured years' worth of footage, then filed it away with no sense of categorization or even basic labeling. The resultant greatest hits reel makes for some rich viewing material, but I certainly don't envy the amount of whittling it took to get there. At some point those tapes must have run dry, too, because the focus suddenly shifts from the notorious exploits of Space Invader, Shepard Fairey and Banksy to Guetta's own farcical artistic aspirations. Whether intentional or not, (and I'm fairly certain it was) that jolting misdirection changes the tone from a fresh, adventurous documentary to a thick, bitter dissertation on art-for-profit and the redundant question of what defines the terms 'artist' and 'artwork'. It's an abrupt, unnecessary final word that seems tacked on to give the story some sort of sought-after greater message, which is a shame because the film was trucking along nicely enough without it.