Danny Able

As a film buff and a life-long Bowiephile, I see this film as soulless. It moves in a profuctory manner through effete narrative tropes of the rags-to-riches biopic genre without defining its subject as distinct (aside from sporting a man's froc) from other individuals craving fame. Not even the presence of the sardonically-witted baby boomer comic Marc Maron can save this stillborn sojourn into the genesis of one of the most dynamic and influential artists of the last half-century. However, my complaint does not extend to the absence of Bowie's catalogue, as Bertold Brecht pieces were omnipresent in a pre-Ziggy songset.