“We gave you all these ideas and you go off and make weird Frances Ha...” the famous last words of a producer who doubts the awesome power of writer/director/star Gillian Wallace Horvat.

After a few idiosyncratic short films Horvat gave the world a concentrated dose of her meta-madness in I Blame Society, a film that destroys itself and its benefactors as it goes on. Horvat plays a funhouse version of herself, a terminally plugged-in creator looking to finally make the leap to the big time. With an atta boy from clueless moneymen, Gillian starts documenting her process of squaring up accounts with ex-boyfriends, old enemies, and innocent bystanders alike.

“Authentic in more ways than one,” as Gillian herself says, I Blame Society is among the most pointed and dryly hysterical looks at the world of branding, buzzwords, and social media’s indemnification against serial selfishness. A true original, shot guerrilla style and with a cast and crew of friends, I Blame Society is a messy open casket funeral for the independent American cinema of the 2000s.