For the majority of this movie's 106-minute running time, Cole has the charisma of a chloroform-soaked rag. At one point he sucks nitrous oxide from a metal can, then sits with his eyes half closed and his head bobbing on top of his tattooed neck for about a full minute before picking up his phone and berating a woman we soon find to be the mother of his child. We watch him leave in a puddle, on the couch, in the passenger seat of a car, and in the bedroom of an abandoned house he stumbles into as his girlfriend runs into drugs across the street. In this very boom Slim Shady LP-era Eminem, it turns out that the kid who was sleeping there recently killed his parents, and he has a Cole Taurus poster hanging on his bedroom wall.
When he's not unconscious, or about to be, Cole is snoring coke in the back room of strip clubs, ignoring his young daughter (she seems used to it), and has sex with a woman who comes up late at night on a drug dealing/work errands hybrid. by sex. It's every cliche of a rock star turned single, tortured artist in Kurt Cobain Mold who spends his days desperately chasing oblivion in an effort to surpass his fame. Sometimes, he makes references to composing the music, moments that spark sporadic creative sparks like the one in the aforementioned interview scene. But we don't hear a full song until the end of the movie, a choice that doesn't do much to make the case for Cole's genius - and thus audience participation.
The point that "Taurus" is trying to make — that fame is a prison, and celebrities are prisoners whose souls become public property once they sell enough records — is unlikely to blow the mind of anyone old enough to have a driver's license. Visually, Kelly cuts a stunning silhouette, with his inner good looks, bleached blonde hair, and broken doll posture. And Sutton's camera is infatuated with him, filming him with different types of cameras and under different lighting regimes. But the empty expression remains the same.
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