Actually, if someone were to make a movie about my life, he could get the bulk of it in the can simply by having Nicolas Cage bellow the alphabet to a bemused-looking secretary then scream incoherently about bees before weeping, mustache-down, into a sequined duvet. It'd require few additional elements. Anything beyond the inclusion of a short scene in which he snags his sleeve on a doorhandle would just be padding...