Getting back to Donald Crowhurst, the sailor-liar. . .
The documentary kind of pissed me off. I was 1/4 the way through it before it became clear what direction the film was going. By then I was hooked, and I'm glad I stayed for the conclusion.
I think the most irritating thing was the framing of Crowhurst's skullduggery and demise. It was spun as a tragedy, with Crowhurst to be a sympathetic figure. I felt bad for the guy who actually won the race fair-and-square, Knox-Johnston.
His widow and one of his (now middle-aged) sons gave on-camera interviews that were interspersed throughout the film. I didn't dislike them personally, but I felt a certain ick about the whole business. It's something I would be ashamed of, were Crowhurst my father. I wouldn't talk about it and I'd move on with my life. But the wife and son. . .it was like they were still living it, justifying it.
You see this kind on TV all the time. They've dome some gigantic fuck-up. . .now they're on camera grinning or crying about it years after-the-fact. It's not healthy.
Something else that struck me. . .the British culture is so full of pompous crap (witness the most recent royal wedding) that when one of them actually does something, they go absolutely apoplectic with delight--the human version of fainting goats.