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During a recent press junket for his big-screen directorial debut, Barenaked in America, Jason Priestley (yes, the sideburned one and only) showed up for a Fox News interview stinking of booze and babbling about how Canadians are an endangered species. Not exactly a Spielbergian start for the former 90210 resident. But the stars of his new film—Canuck-proud popsters Barenaked Ladies—no doubt found his pathetic jackassery downright hilarious. In fact, in Barenaked in America, a 90-minute rockumentary filmed last year during BNL’s first major U.S. tour—right around the time the infectious single “One Week” topped the charts—the carefree musicians apparently find everything downright hilarious. This unfailingly puckish demeanor certainly makes for some spirited pre-show banter—the debate about secretly masturbating on the tour bus is a howler—but when the lights go down, you wish they’d quit with the knock-knocks and just play their light ‘n’ sassy pop. As far as crafting his first major motion picture, Priestley keeps his Don’t Look Back playbook fairly close, mixing concert footage (“You, sir, and your naked wang have just won $1,000”) with handheld shots of the guys Monkee-ing around in front of the White House, on Late Night With Conan O’Brien, and—in guitarist Ed Robertson’s least glamorous moment—on the toilet. Only during the bookending segments when the film focuses on keyboardist Kevin Hearn—whose ongoing battle with leukemia conflicts with his puppy-dog desire to keep horsing around with the guys—does the band come off as more than the second coming of Davy, Micky, Peter, and Mike. Nevertheless, BNL’s legion of fans—all those college-age kids with neither the stamina to follow Phish around the country nor the self-esteem issues to buy into Dave Matthews’ crap—will adore Barenaked in America. And come to think of it: You scant few Canadians left on the globe will probably really like it, too. —Sean Daly