Amy

Amy

It is surprising to see this determined dark haired girl so lively, so full of potential and yet so vain at such a tender age. She is there in bad quality home video footage with her girlfriends some spots of teenage acne here and there on her clear skinned face, sweetly licking a lollipop and belting out “Happy Birthday” with the throaty lilt of an old school R&B diva possessed.

This is the Amy Winehouse that few people knew, exuding impish confidence and delighting in sharing what she had. The one before the brutally invasive flash-flash-flash of omnipresent paparazzi cameras eventually snuffed out the very thing they were after.

What most do know about Winehouse a jazz-revivalist throwback informed by hip-hop, reggae, girl-group pop and soul from North London is that she exploded like a supernova onto the scene with her 2006 breakthrough album “Back to Black,” selling more than 20 million copies and winning five Grammys. For a while, you couldn’t escape her catchy signature lament “Rehab,” which helped shape her coquettish bad-girl persona.

And then almost as quickly came the typically tragic ending: accidental alcohol poisoning in 2011 at age 27, making her a club member with Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison.

Based on what’s on display in “Amy,” a deeply absorbing, prodigiously told and ultimately devastating documentary directed by Asif Kapadia (“Senna”), Winehouse seemed to have had the vocal goods to go down as one of history’s all time greats.

Whether she was scribbling her sexually explicit confessional lyrics in girlish curlicue handwriting or belting away without backing track at full throttle note perfect pizzazz intact in a recording studio booth somewhere, it becomes clear that Winehouse was a natural born entertainer with a raw, borrowed from the past sound and street style all her own: A sultry Sarah Vaughan at the intersection of bee hived Ronnie Spector and fragile Edith Piaf.

But as the film also makes heartbreakingly evident, Winehouse was blessed with a number of dysfunctional traits that would eventually ignite into a public conflagration. Many of them were there before celebrityhood added an explosive element to the mix: An addictive personality; an infuriatingly passive aggressive nature; an unhealthy appetite for drugs and alcohol; a passion for partying recklessly; a weakness for manipulative men; daddy issues dating back to her parents’ breakup when she was still a child not to mention lifelong struggles with depression, bulimia and self-esteem.

Indeed, the intoxicating consistent climb towards success and then a confusing rapid decline has been a central theme in most showbiz cautionary tales. Nor does the number of music documentaries seem to be drying up any time soon after “20 Feet From Stardom” and “Searching for Sugar Man” won Oscars. This year alone has already seen one highly praised doc, “Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck,” about the Nirvana front man, fellow 27 Club member and someone whose own struggles with fame closely mirrored Winehouse’s.

What differentiates “Amy” from other crash-and-burn bio-docs aren’t necessarily any new bombshells her song lyrics pretty much spell out the whole story themselves (which Kapadia shrewdly employs as onscreen captions to wring out their power). What’s striking instead is an almost oppressively intimate feeling, achieved by an astonishing array of archival footage (much never before seen, some shot by Winehouse herself) coupled with bracingly candid present-day audio interviews with those who knew her best. At times it feels like we’re listening in on everyday conversations rather than getting hit with the usual litany of platitudes and regrets.

With more than 100 individuals interviewed by Kapadia & Co., from invaluable childhood pals like Juliette Ashby and first manager Nick Shymansky (a very nice guy who I’m guessing had an unrequited crush on Winehouse) to professional collaborators such as rapper Yasiin Bey (aka Mos Def) and producer Salaam Remi, “Amy” couldn’t feel more personal if the director had included scans of Winehouse’s X-rays.

Every rise and fall story needs its villains. In “Amy,” that role is mostly filled by father Mitch, who introduced her to the retro tunes sung by Frank Sinatra and other jazz greats that became her touchstone. But mostly he comes off as a parasite who fed off his daughter’s fame (there’s a moment when she’s resting post-rehab on Saint Lucia in 2009 and he shows up with his own camera crew that’s especially telling) with only the bare minimum of concern for her well-being; it comes as no surprise that he has disassociated himself from the project. Meanwhile, mom Janis is on hand to recount how, when her teenage daughter admitted that her dieting consisted of binging and purging, she just shrugged and didn’t worry much about it.

However, her husband of some years, Blake Fielder-Civil is public enemy number one. He got her addicted to crack cocaine and heroin then kept her supplied so that she’d never have to leave him for lack of funds. These were the days when Winehouse was most clearly happy: “They’re real people” she says about a photo of herself with Fielder Civil, both bloody after a fight. “Like Sid and Nancy,” muses an off-screen voice.

On another note, it’s hard not to feel like she sealed her own fate; appointing concert promoter Raye Cosbert as her manager while on the cusp of global stardom seems like a particularly egregious error. The interview subject who suggests this adds that promoters only make money when acts are touring so there you go. This might be why, instead of giving the worn out girl a year off, they had her doing shows through 2011 (ill-fated European tour) until even an audience in Belgrade booed and cat-called at her for refusing to sing. She died less than a month later.

“Amy” ends well though: Tony Bennett eulogizes his singing partner by placing her among Dinah Washington, Billie Holliday and Aretha Franklin for one last time. Bennett should know better than anyone what makes Winehouse special; we see as much in behind the scenes footage of the two recording jazz standard “Body and Soul” at Abbey Road for his Duets II album.

When Amy fucks up at first and haltingly asks for another take, the octogenarian flashes a grandfatherly smile and says “Don’t worry, it always takes me a while to warm up too.” Which she does; what comes out confirms everything else ever said about how good Amy Winehouse was at singing.

Watch Amy For Free On Gomovies.