Mary Poppins Returns
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All Critics (13)
| Top Critics (1)
| Fresh (12)
| Rotten (1)
What emerges is a film to rank alongside Temple's own Joe Strummer elegy 'The Future is Unwritten' as the very best in British rock documentary. Riveting, even if you don't like the music.
Authentic feel to this good-looking biopic of the ill-fated band.
Julien Temple's rockumentary Oil City Confidential looks like a series of Martin Parr photographs of the British by the seaside, and then segues into thrashing guitars on the Seventies New York stage.
I don't think [Julien Temple's] ever made a film as good, and purely insightful as this one.
The splicing of old home videos, archive footage and new interviews is handled with real finesse, and in the band's mad-eyed, quixotic guitarist Wilco Johnson, the film has a tirelessly charismatic ringmaster.
A rugged piece of pulp entertainment charting the unlikely rise of UK blues outfit Dr Feelgood.
A clearly affectionate homage to the Canvey Island foursome whose incendiary R&B paved the way for punk.
It's Wilko's peremptory, offbeat monologues that provide Oil City Confidential with its through-line and several of its funniest moments, not least when he describes the clouds and flames of the Shell Haven Refinery as "Miltonic"
Temple tries his best to make the story lively and interesting (even embarking on a brief history of the Thames estuary), but Dr Feelgood remains an R&B band of limited appeal, and Oil City Confidential won't create many new converts.
Temple's constant additions of archive and fictive footage to the mix can become a bit tiring, and splicing in movie scenes to suggest the Feelgood story has film noir connotations is not entirely successful.
Julian Temple's messy, whimsical look at the rise and fall of the British pub rock band Dr Feelgood packs a bigger punch than expected.
An entertaining and engaging rock-doc that can be enjoyed even if you're not a fan of the music.
Julien Temple's superb documentary charting the rise and fall of Canvey Island pub-rockers Dr Feelgood. The twitchily charismatic presence of guitarist Wilko Johnson and some scorching archive performances are perfectly complimented by Temple's frenetic style. If I had to quibble I might say that the b-movie inserts grate eventually, but otherwise this is top drawer, quite the equal of Temple's Joe Strummer movie and not tainted by pointless superstar talking heads.
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