It’s certainly proof that Lesley Manville is capable of anything, though beyond that, this biopic feels fairly ordinary, about a woman whose personality, I have to admit, didn't particularly endear me to her. She plays the grandmother of Amy (Marisa Abela), and they share a close connection. Amy lives with her mother, who has separated from her father, Mitch (Eddie Marsan). He dreams of being a singer, while she’s absorbed in jazz, determined to write her own songs and achieve success independently. Nick (Sam Buchanan), working for music producer Simon Fuller, enters the scene, and after some initial resistance, Amy is signed and on her way. The rest of the story unfolds predictably as Sam Taylor-Johnson chooses to offer a completely imagined perspective on how her personal life unfolded. We see Amy’s increasingly difficult relationships with her friends and father, her grandmother's serious illness, and her "toxic co-dependent" connection with the captivating Blake (Jack O’Connell). There’s no denying that many of her songs are excellent – even if Mark Ronson’s contribution is largely overlooked, and praise goes to Abela for bringing her own interpretation to them. She sings herself and, although she occasionally overacts, she does convey a sense of the powerful personality this woman possessed. O'Connell also performs well, particularly during his dance in the pub when they first meet, but ultimately the narrative feels disjointed and episodic. The portrayal of her character is too superficial, and frankly, she comes across as rather unpleasant. Her increasing exposure to intrusive paparazzi is effectively shown, and that growing frustration is clear, but again we move quickly between events, seemingly rushing toward a conclusion we already know. At two hours, it feels both too long and too short at times. The dialogue provides little understanding of who she truly was, and by the film’s end, while I felt sorry for her, I can't say I grew to care about any of the characters. The behavior of the photographers appears to shoulder an excessive amount of responsibility for her problems, overlooking her own series of poor decisions driven by immaturity and public fascination with watching things fall apart. They wouldn’t be able to profit from their pictures if we didn’t want them. A significant musical legacy remains from someone who, like many other innovative but imperfect musical geniuses, perhaps would have been better left simply for us to listen to.

Source on TMDB