FILM REVIEW: Amy

Amy with an odd tattoo and her creepy husband Blake.

Totally unfamiliar with British singer Amy Winehouse while she was alive, I went to see this film based solely on published, professional reviews I read praising the film to the skies. Besides, I like documentaries and almost always learn something. This one broke that mold, unless you count how to slowly commit suicide through the use of crack cocaine, alcohol and bulimia.

What the reviews don't share with the public is what a downer Amy is. A microscopic look at the rise and fall of a talented celebrity, something we have all seen before, it adds little to the genre. Much of the time the screen is filled with images of Winehouse singing or boozing or just hogging the camera, sometimes joking around with her friends, eventually chased by the unforgiving paparazzi and falling down drunk onstage. There are also too many close-ups of her numerous odd tattoos and unappetizing shots of sloppy kisses with her creepy boyfriend who later becomes her creepy husband, the man who turned her on to crack in the first place.

On the plus side, there is plenty of intimate footage of her performing. With a fabulous voice and an incredible singing style, Winehouse was truly one of the all-time greats, making her death at age 27 even more tragic. But the film sheds no light on her inner demons and we never understand why she was so driven to lose herself in drugs and drink despite deep friendships, an enduring love, and what appears to have been a steady rise to fame, fortune and formal recognition by her peers, with almost no stumbling blocks on the path other than those of her own making.

Her death finally comes after more than two hours, and when it does it's a relief. She's finally out of her pain and you get to leave.