The trick to enjoying From the Journals of Jean Seberg lies in delighting in its wicked wit and cynical irreverence but not taking anything too seriously. The film may as well be summing up Rappaport's attitude toward probing any of his subject's deeper motivations when, in response to the obvious question of why Seberg allowed herself to be such a willing, passive victim for the men (from Preminger to Gary) who humiliated her even as they used her to make their movies, Hurt-as-Seberg shrugs, "Don't even ask why." Well, why not? Isn't that the point of "fictional autobiography" -- to free the filmmaker from getting bogged down in petty details and instead allow him to speculate about the deeper motives? By not even trying to burrow beneath the surface, Rappaport blows an excellent opportunity to get at Seberg's essence. He emerges as merely the latest in a long line of males exploiting her name to further his own directing career.