While And So It Goes offers a staggering amount of access, the experience of watching it is a bit like sitting through a Billy Joel concert that refuses to end: the hits are glorious, but the pacing eventually starts to grate. At five hours long, director Jason Pollard’s documentary is less a lean narrative and more an exhaustive data dump. It is a treasure trove for the “PhD-level” fan, but for the uninitiated, it’s a marathon that occasionally forgets where the finish line is.

The documentary’s most frustrating flaw is its erratic internal logic. Structurally, it’s a bit of a mess; it follows the creative peak of the Turnstiles era only to abruptly halt the momentum for a massive, feature-length detour into Joel’s childhood and his family’s escape from Nazi Germany. While that historical context is fascinating in a vacuum, the placement feels like a narrative speed bump. It kills the “rock and roll” energy of the film’s first half, making the 150-minute episodes feel every bit of their runtime.

Furthermore, for a film that prides itself on openness, there is a lingering sense of “official” curation. While Joel is refreshingly candid about his substance abuse, car wrecks, and the “group of Vikings” debauchery of his early tours, the film often skates over the more difficult questions regarding his creative stagnation. We spend a massive amount of time on the financial betrayals by his former manager (his ex-brother-in-law), which is framed as the primary reason he became a “road warrior.” It’s a convenient narrative that paints Joel as the perpetual victim of the industry, rather than a man who might have simply run out of things to say in a recording studio after 1993.

Even the celebrity commentary feels a bit recycled. Seeing Bruce Springsteen, Sting, and Don Henley pop up is fun, but their insights rarely transcend “Billy is a great songwriter.” The real meat is in the archival snippets, like the brief, tantalizing audio of Joel recording with Elton John’s backing band. These moments hint at a more experimental, gritty version of the artist that was ultimately polished away by the “secret sauce” of producer Phil Ramone.

The film is at its best when it stops being a hagiography and starts being a character study. The segments on the An Innocent Man era and his marriage to Christie Brinkley capture a man caught between his classical training and his desire for pop-star validation. However, by the time the doc reaches the Madison Square Garden residency years, it begins to feel like a victory lap that has been extended for three extra laps.

Ultimately, And So It Goes is a deep-dive that would benefit from a sharper edit. It is an essential document of a Long Island legend, but it’s also a reminder that more isn’t always better. It’s a film for the completists—the ones who want to see every Halston dress and hear every demo—but if you aren’t already a convert, you might find yourself checking your watch long before the river of dreams runs dry.