Hate to burst any of your pretentious bubbles, but Basquiat was a no-talent junkie whose "art" was nothing more that drug-induced grafitti, like particularly childish vandalism. Andy Warhol was another such dull, overrated hack on the 1970s and 80s New York "art scene," glorified by adoring and equally-untalented groupies with more money and drugs than brains. Granted, Warhol acquired a few actual mundane pre-press production skills in his short life, while Basquiat remained what he always was: an unskilled, uninspired maker of messes. Surprisingly, this biopic portrays Basquiat and Warhol as they actually were: Vacant, vacuous, and void. Which makes for a particularly shallow flick that does not glorify the "legends" so much as throws them under the bus.