When a filmmaker can get Imelda Marcos, once one of the 10 richest women in the world, to pull out a Sharpie and draw a Pac-Man, she’s alright by me.

The infamous widow of Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos stars in her own documentary, shrugging off criminal allegations and defending her extravagant spending habits as “giving the poor someone to live through.” Filmmaker Ramona S. Diaz follows Imelda’s progression from local beauty queen to first lady, to money-mad diva who collected jewels and over 40,000 pairs of shoes while her people starved. In crosscutting footage of Filipino slums, riots, and jailhouses with scenes of Imelda opening opera houses or receiving honored guests, a portrait is revealed of a complicated, interesting lady who manages to live in a state of blissful denial even after being tried for her crimes against the people of her country.

Those who remembered Imelda only as the dictator’s wife who squandered her country’s wealth on shoes are missing one hell of a story. It all began in the southern Philippines, where Imelda was plucked from obscurity by appearing in a number of beauty pageants. Imelda recounted her childhood stories with great amusement, and it was easy to see how her undeniable charm could work magic on everyone from Henry Kissinger to Saddam Hussein.

Eventually, Imelda enjoyed a quick rise to the top of the Philippines’ famously crazy political system. As first lady, she saw her role as being the shining star to which the downtrodden masses could look for inspiration.

A decade-long spending spree on cultural centers left Manila dotted with spectacular but mostly unused edifices in which she hoped to stage events that would put Manila on a cultural par with New York. Imelda spent millions of dollars building structures for rich people in the capital city in 1975 alone. She continuously did this while the masses lived in squalor. Scenes of Imelda traveling the world attending glittering parties and meeting world leaders are fun to watch as she reminisces about the glamour of it all. They expected her to wear only the best clothes… and the best shoes, she says.

With the friendship and support of America, the Marcos’ hunger for power increased and in 1972, Ferdinand declared martial law, abolishing Congress and the court of the land. This was, according to Imelda, for the good of the people. Everything she did was, in her mind–or her delusions–to benefit the common folk. “I had to be both star and slave,” she says.

The documentary reached its pinnacle of absurdity when she decided to explain her personal system and belief of cosmological philosophy, a deranged tangle of numbers, shapes, and diagrams, which she carefully sketched out on a big white pad. It was a journey into the mind of a well-coiffed madwoman who had spent too much time surrounded by sycophants who told her nothing but how great and brilliant she was.

She is clearly divorced from reality. One has only to try to follow her seven steps (which turn out to be really 10) to understanding the cosmos to see that Imelda is not just in a league of her own, but in a universe of her own.

Even in disgrace, and even with Diaz’s accusing camera in her face as she strikes a devoted pose over her husband’s wax-covered corpse, she still seems to be enjoying it immensely.