‘Amy’ distilled

Whatever circle of hell the jazz singer Amy Winehouse may have descended to, the documentary ‘Amy’ puts you right there with her, voyeur, watching. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. Observing the opportunists and piranhas circling – her drug-riddled boyfriend/husband, her creepy dad, the mobs of unfeeling, slavering paparazzi – as fame and addiction slowly swallow her is deeply disturbing. I hadn’t realised before this quite how unmediated and raw Amy’s songs were – life dumped on the page, bleeding. But what a voice, what a huge talent. And what a loss, and tragedy.

A morality tale for the celebrity era.

Verdict: Tough love, terrific. No alcohol please. Thank you

 

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