It was only a matter of time before some documentarian got around to the traveling Phish freak show. The fortunate camera-wielder in question turned out to be controversial director Todd Phillips (Hated, Frat House, Road Trip), but don't expect a subversive or confrontational dissection of the band and its fans. Bittersweet Hotel is one of those "let the music speak for itself" sort of films, made up mostly of footage from Phish's 1997–98 American and European tours. The problem is that the band's music doesn't have much to say, conveniently (if backhandedly) supporting singer-guitarist Trey Anastasio's defensive claim that the group gives voice to a generation of "suburban white kids." It figures that this documentary was only made at the behest of the band: Anastasio, bassist Mike Gordon, keyboardist Page McConnell, and drummer Jon Fishman are affable enough, but their modest qualities also make them uninteresting subjects. Phillips may have been handpicked to shake things up, but there's not much going on here: Besides a brief visit to a weapons shop and a contrived bit of mass nudity, Bittersweet Motel is business as usual. As for Phish itself, the group could best be summed up by its Great Went concert, which drew more than 700,000 fans to Maine for a weekend of wanky music. The drugs and dopey dancing come off as little more than ersatz Woodstock, and the Phish movement mere inertia in action, motion with no meaning. While Phish fans will likely love Bittersweet Motel, others are bound to find themselves baffled, indifferent, or bored.