On the surface James appears a manipulator of genius, but for all his machinations he is constantly flopping in the arenas of power, money and sex. The movie makes a point of showing him striking out with a beautiful young woman (the music and dance artist FKA twigs, whose casting indicates the hipness quotient to which the movie aspires); young Otis then picks up Dad’s slack and starts an intimate friendship with her. Harsh!

One could watch “Honey Boy” musing that it must be nice to have someone finance a movie of your 12-step qualification. That assessment is actually too generous. To share one’s “experience, strength and hope,” as Alcoholics Anonymous puts it, is meant, ostensibly, to help others. This is not the aim here. “Honey Boy” is a flex: an assertion of the clout LaBeouf claims, in interviews, to no longer have.

When adult Otis sasses his counselor (Martin Starr) at a recovery facility, so high end it has a grand piano in its reception area, Hedges and Ha’rel don’t present the character as a damaged person having a difficult time accepting help. Rather, they concoct a rough and tough, rehab-resistant maverick who can’t be tamed because his wounds are just too complicated.

Near the film’s end, Otis splits from rehab and finds James back at the motel. Sitting by the pool, they share a joint. “I’m gonna make a movie about you, Dad,” Otis says. And there you have it.

Honey Boy

Rated R for themes, language, drunken hellion montages. Running time: 1 hour 34 minutes.