Asif Kapadia’s documentary about Amy Winehouse, whom Tony Bennett describes as ‘one of the truest jazz singers that ever lived’, and who died of alcohol poisoning at 27 (FFS), is masterly and gripping, which is a pity, as you can’t look away. You will want to look away, and may even yearn to do so once the heroin comes into play, and the crack, and that husband and that gig in Belgrade, when she was all unsteady, shuffling and broken beneath the big hair, but you can’t. Oh, Amy, I kept thinking, if only — if only — you’d said, ‘Yes, yes, yes’. It is almost unbearable in this way.
Kapadia’s previous documentary, Senna, which traced the life of the doomed motor-racing star Ayrton Senna, and rightly won many awards, was also heartbreaking and painful, but not as heartbreaking and painful as Amy. Perhaps this is only because Ayrton meant nothing to me personally, whereas I was crazy for Winehouse from the moment I first heard her, which, you won’t be surprised to hear, was way after everyone else.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in