Thankfully their contribution to the film is minimal. Dullaghan probably just wanted a couple of big names to get the crowds in. The rest of the interviewees are associates, friends and lovers who give a real insight into Bukowski’s life and work. Because of that closeness, there’s little of the outlaw glamour which tends to drag this kind of thing down. The film is an admirably straightforward look at a very honest writer. There’s a lot of affection in the reminiscences, but by and large they are forthright and tend to stay away from sensationalism and bravado. Bukowski himself may have wanted to come across like Hemingway, but the truth got in the way, thank goodness. So this is a very candid view of a troubled, insecure, deeply flawed guy who tried to tell it like it was. Contributions from Linda Lee Bukowski, Black Sparrow press owner John Martin and Neeli Cherkovski (an old friend) give you a feel for the time and his changing circumstances when the money and success came. Martin seems to have been one of those rare gems, a Tony Wilson type who did it for the art and nothing else (although, like Wilson, I’m sure he enjoyed the money when it finally came), while Linda Lee gave as good as she got and can tell a lot about the man who wrote, not the cult .

It’s all good stuff, but the archive footage of Bukowski himself is great, and it’s rightfully given centre stage. A number of very revealing TV interviews and performances are interspersed with poetry readings over the backdrop of Bukowski in his native LA. I could happily watch hours of this stuff, so easy is the poetry and the coherent way it’s been put together (I think ‘The Bukowski Tapes’ comprises a good few hours of footage if you’re after more of the same). This is just a joy to watch, and Dullaghan wisely doesn’t allow too much stylistic nonsense to interfere with it. It’s a very upfront documentary - the subjects are allowed to speak for themselves and there’s little trace of an agenda. Here is a serious attempt to understand a valuable writer, nothing else, and it works. It must have been tempting to try and create a piece of art instead of concentrating on the job in hand. Even the luckless Bono inflecting his way through a poem or two (this is a serious bit, now look straight into the camera) doesn‘t spoil it.

Dullaghan hasn’t tried to add to the mythology, the romantic idea that people who don’t know any better have about the free and easy life of a drunk. If you want that kind of thing there are plenty of good Rolling Stones films knocking around. For the most part this film lets the truth speak for itself and succeeds in making a very worthwhile document for anyone who’s a fan.

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Stuart Blackwood is 30 (odd), was born in Newarthill and lives in Glasgow. He supports Motherwell FC, has an MA in Economics and Philosophy and likes William Bell (the singer), Bukowski & Fante, Eric Arthur Blair, Negativeland, Eric Hobsbawm, politics, philosophy and ambiguity. He dislikes Alan Bloom and Francis Fukuyama, U2, categorization and Violence.

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© 2007 Laura Hird All rights reserved.