Its no secret that Amy Winehouse was ill-equipped to deal with worldwide levels of fame, though Amy, the autobiographical documentary about her life released four years after she died from alcohol poisoning, couldnt make the point clearer. A truly harrowing watch at times, we see Winehouse as a schoolgirl both playing the piano and playing down her talent, insisting that writing music is a natural extension of the poetry she wrote as a child; its not that spectacular, really. As her world is slowly consumed by the trappings of celebrity status, however, the movie shows her tragic slide into drink and drug addiction with unflinching candor, the paparazzi hounding her door and chasing her down the street while she spins further and further off the rails, at times hiding in the dressing room, scared to go onstage. By the time one of her friends calls her a reluctant celebrity, it sounds like the biggest understatement of all time. That there was a horrible sense of inevitability about Winehouses death aged 27 tells us something about how celebrities are placed on a pedestal and expected to demonstrate perfection, and when they fall short suffer the kind of judgment and intrusion that a vulnerable person struggles to cope with.
