This emphasis on natural beauty and authentic talent is ultimately the movie's driving narrative. Jackson isn't jealous of Ally's success — he wants her to be great at what she does. What irks him is the way the music industry commercialises her, changing her to fit the mould rather than adapting to her specific energy. And so he watches as she dyes her hair, changes her clothes, adopts long, claw-like nails, and appears on Saturday Night Live to sing an ode to hot male asses. This is actually where the film loses steam. The commentary on how we force famous women to conform and manufacture a palatable persona is a valid one. But the problem is that we only know how Jackson feels about it. And yes, he hates it, in the way that so-called "authentic" men do — especially since they're more often afforded the opportunity to remain true to their pre-frame selves. But without knowing how Ally perceives this shift, and whether she's at all had a say in it, it all comes off as mansplain-y — yet another man declaring that he’s going to tell us about art.