It's probably impossible to underestimate what an enormous pain in the ass “;gonzo artist”; David Choe must be, judging by his behavior in this sprawling, affectionate film, but it's clear that he's not just a terrific, gifted artist. Choe's also likable and entertaining and curiously endearing. You just don't want him living next door. Or dating your daughter. Especially not your daughter.

Choe's most-noted style comes from his wielding of spray cans on public property, and he dropped out of art school to become essentially a graffiti vandal. He's equally at home with mixed media and traditional art forms and is currently riding a pop-art wave thanks to a groundbreaking show of works he created in Japanese prison, using shoyu and urine as his medium.

Yes, you read that right.

Choe has had struggles with the status quo his whole life—to the point where he has an obsessive need to travel, to experience a new landscape every morning—and his early years are a rap sheet rather than a resume: Burglary, forgery, trespassing, vandalism, assault, drug use, sex addiction ... all of which are symptoms of various psychological maladies. But the drugs prescribed to mute these head demons also knock the teeth out of his artistic muse.

Tough call. It helps that Choe is also preternaturally cheerful and engaging about all this. The boy needs help—or a cage—but if he were an average citizen, he wouldn't be a fab-pop artistic icon, raking in the dough, and we wouldn't have the luxury of experiencing his unique vision.

Although “;Dirty Hands”; is too long by far—it arcs about 20 minutes shorter than the actual end—it's always entertaining, even if it's passing-by-a-car-crash fascinating. Note: There's plenty of twisted sexual imagery and cheerful verbal vulgarity.