Chris Smith directs Billy McFarland, Ja Rule and Andy King in this documentary about a high end tropical island music festival sold on Instagram that didn’t exactly deliver on the once in a lifetime experience promised.

A hyperbolic look at a hyperbolic non-event. Are a struggling rapper and a jock turned entrepreneur the biggest fraudsters of their generation? Or people who knew how to sell an idea in the digital age but not how to deliver the infrastructure? I get the feeling the latter is true and most of the ticket buyers seem equally pathetic and useless. The prick who confessed to destroying neighbouring tents so he could have a little bit more shithole than everyone else is more detestable than the yes men, dead eyed models and party bros who destroyed their “reputations” by failing to deliver a Blink-182 gig on Pablo Escobar’s former retreat. These jarbronis are representative of such a small subsection of their generation, rather than indicative so this is an exercise in lightweight schadenfreude, pure and simple. Essentially an amusing anecdote stretched over 90 minutes the highlights involving an exciting bit of bartering for mineral water (no thanks, I’ll keep my Evian!) and Ja Rule screaming like a dictator “If we fuckin wanna go see the pigs, we go see the pigs”. Spoiler warning… Pigs are seen of all sizes.

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