How do you make David Bowie boring? By treating him like an oracle. In this documentary, the British icon/singer/actor pontificates at such length, and so often, that unless you’re the most fawning of fans (or have a natural ability to filter out repetition) you’ll want to strangle director Brett Morgen. Given access to hours upon hours of audio and visual footage, by the Bowie estate, the 53-year-old American has blown the opportunity of a lifetime.
That said, the film’s first half an hour is bliss. Morgen offers highlights from the 1973 concert during which Bowie’s alter ego, Ziggy Stardust, strutted his stuff for the last time. Bowie’s saucy moves have been edited to induce ecstacy. Meanwhile, a TV interview with clearly a dazzled Russell Harty adds to the sense of hysteria. A young Bowie discusses his fluid sexuality with hyperactive confidence and one of many surprises is that when he bares his teeth they’re the colour and shape of the Seventies sweets, Gold Nuggets. Nothing about this creature is clean-cut and his shame-free grin is intoxicating.
