The particular highlight of the film has Zizek interacting with his infant son, discussing the charade of going to McDonalds and giving us an in-depth analysis of the little guy’s vast toy collection, with pater familias noting some of his favourite plastic figures and the wonderful feminist gesture signified by the son’s decision to place two female figures on the summit of a building. The scene is topped off by a hilarious statement from Zizek, when the infant becomes enraptured by the flickers of the TV, “Oh look, he’s narcissistically amused.” Delivered with perfect timing and so indicative of a mind whose cogs never slow down for a second.

Textual quotes line the fissures opened up by one scene segueing into another. Rather than this being intrusive, or a dull and crippling tarnishing of the whole, these breakages highlight relevant kernels of Zizek’s philosophy, from relevant books, and are interpolated in such a way as to avoid ruining the pace of the film. This method of on-screen text and selective graphic embellishment is a contrast to the film’s precursor, Derrida – another film concerned with the everyday manoeuvres of a philosopher, this time the father of Deconstruction, Jacques Derrida. Packed with plenty of joviality from seeing the author of such headache-inducing tomes as Writing & Difference sitting down to eat a cracker, it was nevertheless mired slightly by interludes of spoken excerpts set to a strangely unsettling soundtrack. Thankfully, Zizek! skips right past this obstacle.

It’s incredibly interesting observing how such a brilliant mind goes about the dreary practice of everyday living, it allows us a fascinating peek into the world of a man whose words and dynamic on-stage persona were all we had held previously. Naturally, there’s a touch of the cult of personality in all this, something Zizek himself speaks out about in the film, casting mighty scornful gazes at the chance of someone perceiving him as anything other than “a monster.” Regardless, there appears an innate desire to reach out to the objectified other, as idealised as it may be, we want to clear away those barriers and see the frail organism that lies beyond, an entity more real than the slew of words that masks it.

Just today, in the Observer’s ‘Food Monthly’ supplement, there dwelled a fine piece of captivating journalistic inquiry detailing the contents of Steven Seagal’s shopping basket. Not only did we learn of his fondness for scotch whiskey, but he also, like a good pedagogue, taught us that he consumes Tibetan barley every morning, ending on the fundamental truth that “I always try and eat healthy but I’m kind of human so I do have my weaknesses.” How this “kind of human” compares to Zizek’s declaration that he is a monster is best left, for now, to another inquiry.