Dan Harmon should be a fascinating documentary subject. A high-profile television showrunner, the 40-something writer and producer has tilted the axis of TV entertainment to a more postmodern angle. That’s the beauty of his conflicted genius. On the other side is his apparent ugliness, which led to his (ultimately temporary) 2012 dismissal from Community, the experimental NBC sitcom that stands as his greatest achievement.

Harmontown director Neil Berkeley catches his subject soon after this very public defrocking, and Harmon is flailing. He’s under contract to develop two pilots—one for CBS, one for Fox—but struggling to meet deadline. “Takes a lot out of a guy,” Harmon jokes, “being a vessel for God.” The one thing Harmon has going for him is his weekly podcast, Harmontown, and so he takes the show on the road for a brief tour, Berkeley in tow.

Fans of the podcast will likely find something to love in this doc. But those seeking a deeper understanding of the genius in Harmon’s other, more interesting undertakings will walk away disappointed. Those projects—in particular Community and the inspired yet failed pilot for Heat Vision and Jack—are only briefly considered. Big names like Joel McHale, John Oliver, Ben Stiller, and Sarah Silverman are here, but they don’t reveal much. Their brief testimonials contain the qualified praise and earnest concern you’d expect to hear at the prep meeting for an intervention.

Which maybe Harmon needs. Each night of the podcast tour, he takes the stage without a plan. Save for a few pockets of original humor, his shows devolve into masturbation jokes, alcoholism, and self-loathing. The nerdy, adoring crowds seem to enjoy the spectacle, and Berkeley captures that adulation—if little else. Nothing really happens in the doc, aside from Harmon somehow finishing his CBS pilot (which we later learn was another failure).

So what’s the movie about? “I thought this was going to be about me getting better and better at doing a show,” says Harmon during one of his reflective moments. “It’s become about me dealing with the fact that I don’t need to have one.” Let’s hope that the second part of that statement is true. Runs Fri., Oct. 17–Thurs., Oct. 23 at SIFF Film Center. Not rated. 101 minutes.

mbaumgarten@seattleweekly.com