In one dreadful sequence, Broomfield interviews the former girlfriend of two LAPD officers who Broomfield thinks were also tied to the Shakur killing. What does the interview with the girlfriend consist of? Questions about the "crazy sex" she had with both men and whether those episodes were ever videotaped. Broomfield doesn't even try to explain what that has to do with the rap killings he's investigating.

Other parts of the film simply do not ring true. Early on, Broomfield tries to line up an interview with former LAPD detective Russell Poole, an outspoken critic of the department who insists that the brass didn't allow him to investigate the rap killings because crooked cops were working for Death Row and higher-ups didn't want the bad publicity.

Initially, Poole refuses Broomfield's interview request "on advice of my counsel," which is odd because over the last few years Poole has spoken at great length to Rolling Stone, the New Yorker, the Los Angeles Times and VH1. In fact, Poole's conspiracy theory is laid out in elaborate detail in Randall Sullivan's recent book, "Labyrinth." In the end Poole agrees to help Broomfield, but the whole thing seems like a ruse; who won't Poole talk to about his LAPD conspiracy theory?

And what should viewers make of Poole? He's a central player in "Biggie and Tupac," but he hardly comes across as an authoritative figure on-screen. At one point he tells Broomfield that when LAPD bosses took him off the rap murder cases, he almost committed suicide. No doubt the passage is supposed to illustrate Poole's dedication ("The case is the most important thing in Poole's life," says Broomfield); instead, it raises questions about the man's stability.

"Biggie and Tupac"

Directed by Nick Broomfield

Featuring Nick Broomfield, Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, Suge Knight, Russell Poole

Perhaps worst of all, "Biggie and Tupac," which runs about 20 minutes too long, is also at times amazingly dishonest. In what passes for a moment of drama, Broomfield interviews Wallace's bodyguard, who was present the night the rapper was murdered in Los Angeles, and shows him a series of head shots of possible trigger men. The bodyguard immediately picks out a man named Amir Muhammad as the killer, and tells a shocked Broomfield that police had never shown him that man's picture before.

Broomfield shows that footage to Poole who crows on camera, "I think it's a breakthrough in the case."

But the angle is hardly new. In December 1999 the Los Angeles Times broke the story about Muhammad's possible connection to the case in a now-infamous front-page exclusive. The breathless account, citing anonymous law enforcement sources (i.e., Poole), speculated that Muhammad, a gang member, had been hired by a crooked cop to kill Wallace. The paper said that Muhammad had disappeared since the shooting, making it impossible for detectives to question him.

But months later, and after much internal wrangling, the Times ran an embarrassing retraction of sorts when, after just three days of searching, another reporter at the newspaper located Muhammad. He was brokering real-estate loans out of his Southern California office. "I'm not a murderer, I'm a mortgage broker," he told the newspaper. At that point the LAPD detective exonerated Muhammad, telling the Times that he had not been considered a suspect for at least a year.

Broomfield doesn't allow those facts to get in the way of the story he wants to tell, and includes none of that information in his film. After smearing Muhammad's name with circumstantial evidence and identifying him on-screen as a possible assassin, Broomfield limply narrates that he was unable to contact the man in question. The director then has the nerve to suggest that Muhammad come forward because, "If nothing else, his name should be cleared."

What's so troubling is that casual viewers -- and movie critics -- may come away thinking Broomfield scored a coup. He did, but only by cleverly concealing the truth. Is that how puckish filmmakers are supposed to score points?

In contrast to Broomfield, Chuck Philips at the Los Angeles Times is a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter who covers the music industry. Over the years his dispatches on the deadly rap wars have been considered the definitive reporting by many observers.

Philips' recent Sept. 6 exposé, which exploded like an M-80 inside the hip-hop community, reported that Tupac was gunned down by members of the Southside Crips, a legendary Compton, Calif., gang. The killing was reportedly in retaliation for the beating a Crips member, Orlando Anderson, took that night in Las Vegas at the hands of Tupac and his roving Death Row crew in the lobby of the MGM Grand Hotel.

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