There are few stories in the annals of rock history as mysterious as the legend of Cynthia Plaster Caster. Immortalized in the song "Plaster Caster," by KISS, Cynthia is regarded for her extensive collection of--to put it crudely--molds of rock star cocks. Since the late '60s, Cynthia has convinced her favorite musicians to allow her to make plaster castings of their manhood. Thought by many to be just another myth of a testosterone-driven music industry, this sweet documentary of her career proves Cynthia is alive and still casting.

Her heightened mythos is one reason this film works so well. Rock stars consider her the ultimate groupie, titillated by her manic obsession with that which swings between their legs. Inevitably, this bubble bursts. In the opening segment, she approaches indie rocker Bill Dolan of 5ive Style, stuttering and tripping over her odd request in the most charming of ways. Much of the film documents her attempts to make a casting of Dolan's ding-dong, but due to the highly clinical and decidedly unerotic properties of plaster, the mold has trouble reaching its "full potential."

The film also follows her equally troublesome attempts in putting together her first fancy New York art show, but it's with musicians that we see the real Cynthia. There's a quiet scene where Dolan is teaching her a guitar chord, and it becomes immediately apparent that she doesn't simply want just another cock to add to her collection; he was chosen because she genuinely likes him.

Jello Biafra (Dead Kennedys), Pete Shelley (Buzzcocks), Mark Arm (Mudhoney) are all on hand to speak with sweet reverence, but ironically, Gene Simmons of KISS is missing--probably because he once requested a casting and was (HAH!) turned down. Though there are few attempts at explaining why Cynthia would devote her life to such a strange art form, such an intellectual dissection is unnecessary. In the end, the answer is refreshingly simple: Cynthia Plaster Caster is just an artist who loves music, and the dicks of those who create it.