Documenting all, even me!

ONCE in a galaxy far away there were hieroglyphics, drums, Morse code. Then a stand-up phone. Then a desk-size dial phone. Then a cellphone. And ankle-length skirts became calf-length then kneelength, now diaper-length. The world moves on.

Long ago theaters showed double features plus weekly “Perils of Pauline” serials and giveaway dishes. That’s now as old-hat as an old hat. Today it’s 30-second commercials, streaming and the latest sweet spot? Documentaries.

A documentary is now’s swifter cheaper way to feed the monster accustomed to instant rice, mini meals, quick f ix, fast food, rapid transit, takeout, Jiffy Lube. And to feed a seemingly bottomless appetite, it’s a feet-up, behind-down, mouth-eating, stay-home pleasure.

Big-ticket blockbuster tentpole movies — “Avatar,” “The Lion King,” “Toy Story,” “Star Trek,” “Star Wars” with star names leaping and shooting and crashing can cost hundreds of millions to make. Documentaries? Not.

We’ve had them on Pavarotti, Ferragamo, Koch, McQueen, Dr. Ruth, The Beatles — now me — and its producers are Ron

Howard and Brian Grazer’s Imagine Entertainment, who created Oscar winner “A Beautiful Mind” and nominee “Frost/ Nixon.” Remember their “Apollo 13”?

One on me — created this year, shown next year — will be a four-part series on Showtime. Why it’s getting made — no idea. This is only to explain that if you see me anywhere or at an opening someplace trailed by a crew squinting into a camera — you will understand.