All the Sadness Preserved

Asif Kapadia’s “Amy,” about British pop singer Amy Winehouse, who died in 2011 of alcohol poisoning, illustrates one thing about the digital age — primary source material, in the form of home and camera videos, will be everywhere, should someone decide to make a documentary.

The film is mostly archival footage, backed with audio from friends, lovers, family members. And the story is drearily familiar — the brash young talent, the hard slog to get noticed, the initial attention, the birth of a star  and the star’s rapid decline into a nightmare of drugs and alcohol and bulimia and paparazzi and hangers-on.

Kapadia doesn’t seem to have an axe to grind here, unless “Amy” is intended to serve as an indictment of the entertainment business in general. The story is laid out chronologically and matter-of-factly. It’s not always easy to understand, either. Winehouse never lost her decidedly non-posh accent, and many of the people speaking have the same swallowed syllables and shortcuts like “innit.”

Because somebody was apparently always pointing some sort of video camera at the girl from childhood on, and the footage was kept, there are scenes of Winehouse torching it up on a rendition of “Happy Birthday” for someone’s 14th, or an even younger girl who is clearly aware of her ability to attract attention.

Rides in taxicabs were preserved — not particularly illuminating, but indicative of what a lark she thought the whole thing was — at least at the start.

Because her voice and jazz style made everyone think of singers like Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holliday or Ella Fitzgerald, it was easy to forget that Winehouse was very young, just 18, when she started to hit the big time.

Kapadia shows handwritten song lyrics, though, that are in the hand of a teenager — complete with hearts. Lots of hearts. And in the musical scenes, the lyrics are often displayed in the film. The voice evoked decades of cigarettes and whiskey; the words are those of a confused teenager. Which makes the film even sadder than it needs to be.

The most grueling scene is of Winehouse stumbling out on stage in Belgrade. She removes her shoes, hugs one of the musicians and mills around, looking confused. Eventually she is booed off.

There are plenty of villains in the piece if you’re looking for them — her father, clearly looking to ride the gravy train as far as possible, and the vapid, drug-addled, hipster husband in his ever-present stingy brim fedora.,

But they are all too stupid to be truly evil. Mostly they are along for the ride, even if the vehicle’s about to crash.

A few people tried to help. A record company executive insists on drug testing before public performances. A doctor tells her the truth — if she keeps up the pace she will die. And a drug counselor observes that it was difficult to get the idea of making healthy changes when she was surrounded by people whose livelihoods depended on her remaining outrageous.

Toward the end of her life, Winehouse recorded a duet with Tony Bennett on “Body and Soul.” Of course, the session was filmed.

Winehouse was obviously nervous and on her best behavior with one of  her idols. Bennett calms her down and keeps her focused, until they get the recording they want.

Too bad she didn’t spend more time with Bennett.