An intimate, smartly constructed, and, of course, ultimately very sad documentary charting the meteoric rise and drug-and-alcohol-fueled fall of Amy Winehouse, the late British soul singer who electrified the popular imagination, particularly from 2006 to 2008. Most of the film consists of archival footage (of wildly varying quality on a technical level, of course, but often poignant or startling in its intimacy) set to music or anecdotes recounted by Amy's family and friends, as well as musicians who played with her and record-label executives who signed and promoted her. To avoid giving the film too conventional an aesthetic, most of the interviewees are not seen, but rather identified with text on the screen.
At the height of her fame (during my high-school years), I must admit I thought of Amy first and foremost as a contemporary of a band I adored and obsessed over, the Libertines. In general, I consider myself a casual, but far from ardent fan of hers, but this film firmly held my attention, so it is definitely not a product only the hardest of hardcore devotees can enjoy. Early on, it tenderly reveals its subject as a down-to-earth, at times convivial, at times irascible woman who utilized music as a therapeutic outlet for despondency. And the film is incredibly adept as a stinging indictment of the way the media (from BBC anchorpeople to late-night comedians such as Jay Leno) turned a flesh-and-blood human being's alcoholism, drug abuse, and eating disorder into a perverse carnival because of the distancing dynamic of celebrity. Many in the audience, myself included, may remember finding a degree of amusement and/or queasy fascination in Amy's "antics" (read: self-destruction) and experience an undeniable pang of shame.
B+Oh, and Mitch Winehouse seriously functions as an antagonist. What a creep.
Blake Fielder is often vilified by the media, but, here, I thought he seemed more just another damaged soul whose worst tendencies were amplified once drawn into the lavish Winehouse orbit.
