It feels like the Bowie nostalgia industry is getting out of hand, what with London’s V&A Storeroom opening its David Bowie Centre this year, comprehensive 2022 documentary Moonage Daydream and 2017 BBC show David Bowie: The Last Five Years, among others. So this new film covering Bowie’s final decades could be a tough sell for non-completists: the 90s and 00s were not, let’s be honest, the Bowie’s golden years, creatively or reputationally. After his perpetual self-reinvention during the 70s and early 80s, fans were somewhat baffled by his new band Tin Machine, which critic Jon Wilde dismissed as “glorified pub rock” in his scathing Melody Maker review (even Wilde shakes his head as he reads it out again here; the last line is: “You’re a fucking disgrace.”)
It’s not all doom and gloom, though, even if Bowie seemed to be following the zeitgeist rather than leading it – not least with his short-lived foray into drum & bass. The narrative almost acknowledges as much with frequent flashbacks to the halcyon days, and Bowie’s lifelong fascination with outer space the through-line. And there are enjoyable contributions from the likes of Tony Visconti, Rick Wakeman, Dana Gillespie, Hanif Kureishi, and guitarists Earl Slick and Reeves Gabrels.
Bowie’s 2000 Glastonbury show is positioned as something of a comeback, after which he enjoyed living legend status, but it’s arguably only his final album, Blackstar, that really stands out creatively. Ten years on, it’s moving to hear Visconti, his lifelong friend and collaborator, talking about recording in secret what they all knew would be his last project. It would be wrong to call it going out on a high, under the circumstances, but it’s heartening that Bowie could craft such a poignant, defiant, dignified exit.