When talking about the preparation for his role of Pete Seeger in “A Complete Unknown,” Edward Norton expressed recalcitrance at getting into specifics, sharing, “I think we’re getting so hung up on the process and the behind-the-scenes thing that we’re blowing the magic trick of it all.” Watching “Diane Warren: Relentless,” a documentary about the titular, animal-loving, fifteen-time Academy Award nominee songwriter, it’s evident that Warren herself thinks similarly. Those hoping to walk away with a greater understanding of her prolific output (she’s written for more than four hundred and fifty recording artists) commensurate with her success (she’s penned nine number-one songs and had thirty-three songs on the Billboard Hot 100) will do so empty-handed, though not without having been entertained. 

“As soon as someone starts talking about [process] I want to kill myself,” she groans. “Do you want to be filmed having sex?” To that end, without offering this insight, the documentary at times feels almost too standard and bare, especially for an iconoclastic creative like Warren. Director Bess Kargman plays through the expected beats initially, ruminating on her success and career with cleverly placed adulation assists from talking head interviews from industry icons like Cher, Jennifer Hudson, and Quincy Jones, before narrowing focus and focusing on how her upbringing and family circumstances led to where she is today.

There’s a deceptive simplicity to these proceedings, though. Yes, it may follow the typical documentary structure, but by refusing to disclose the exact “magic trick” of Diane’s success, the film is much more effective at ruminating along with her. It’s the kind of documentary that won’t immediately spark new revelations about its subject through flashy announcements. But, when played back down the line, one can see that the secrets to success were embedded in ordinary rhythms. It’s akin to revisiting old journal entries after you’ve spent years removed from the headspace of the initial writing. You walk away with a greater understanding not just of the past but of the present, too.

Refreshingly, the film knows that the best way to honor its subject is not to make her more “agreeable” or sugarcoat her sardonic tone but instead revel in it; the doc desires to capture her in all of her complexities and honesty. When we first meet Warren, she’s getting ready to drive over to her office with her cat. It’s no different from many set-ups you’ve probably seen before in other documentaries. A handheld camera shakily follows its subject through quotidian rhythms as if it were a vlog of sorts. Yet, while in the car, Warren directly breaks the fourth wall and cheekily tells the camera that it can be placed at a better angle before grabbing it and trying to reposition it herself. It’s a small moment, but one that underscores her personality.

Another facet that’s interesting about this approach is that we see, at times, how this is uncomfortable for Warren herself. She doesn’t try to mythologize her life and work, not out of a false sense of humility but because she genuinely seems content with letting her creative process be tinged with mystery even unto herself. She’s aware that the camera’s probing nature can often disrupt the sacredness of that mystery, and it’s funny to see the ways she navigates its presence, especially when she begins to share more personal details of her life, such as the fact that while her father supported her music, her mother did not. She flirts between wanting to be anonymous and knowing that visibility (especially in the entertainment industry) is the key to longevity. It’s an interesting metanarrative to witness on-screen, even when the subject matter may vary at a given moment.

Given Warren’s confidence, the documentary could have further explored her relationship with the Academy Awards; it’s evident it’s important for her to win and Kargman isn’t afraid to linger on the devastation and anger she feels when she’s snubbed for the umpteenth time. It raises a question, though, that for all of Warren’s self-confidence, why does she feel the need to be validated by what this voting body thinks? It’s clear that not winning hasn’t deterred her or reduced the quality of her music, as she uses each loss as further fuel to keep creating.

When the film does get into more personal territory, such as detailing the creation of songs like Lady Gaga’s “Til It Happens to You,” which was inspired in part by Warren’s own experience of being sexually assaulted, we get a little bit of more insight into her creative process. The songs she writes that are directly inspired by her life (“Because You Loved Me,” a tribute to her father is another) are significant because, as some of her frequent collaborators note, she’s penned some of the most renowned songs about love despite deriding romance in her own life. Kiss singer Paul Stanley, who wrote “Turn on the Night” with Warren, observed that it’s “easier to write about heartache when you don’t have to live it … but you do fear it.” For Warren, she shares how writing love songs feels more like acting and doing role play; it’s touching to see the contrast between songs rooted in her personal history and ones that aren’t.

At times, “Diane Warren: Relentless” falters in embodying the transgressive nature of the artist at its center. But upon further reflection, this is the type of lean, no-nonsense documentary that could be made about an artist like her; it’s disarmingly straightforward and bursting with a candor befitting of someone toiling away in a merciless industry purely for the love of the game. It may be hard to get on the film’s wavelength at first. But then again, Warren wouldn’t have it any other way.