When the trailer for Sam Taylor-Johnson’s biopic of Amy Winehouse, Back to Black, first landed, her fans were gracious. ‘This,’ they said, ‘is going to be terrific.’ I’m winding you up. They were horrified. It’s too soon, they said. It’s exploitative and trashes her legacy, they concluded, from having watched two minutes of footage. I can only say that, one, fanatical fans are like that whatever you do, and two, this is better than I expected (although my expectations were low). It does seem softened at the edges, and one can never forgive a falling-in-love montage set at London Zoo – ever – but
I (mostly) didn’t cringe and it is respectful, if painful.

Abela captures an Amy who is strong and fragile, needy and tough, charismatic and defiant

Amy died at 27 (of alcohol poisoning) so there is no ‘comeback’ third act. She barely had a second act and most of that is the ‘downward spiral’ which is always horrible to witness. (Please don’t show her vomiting over a toilet bowl… nope, too late.) However, I can’t think of a single music biopic that avoids all that apart from, perhaps, The Sound of Music but that has a controlling father, so you can’t have everything.

The film stars Marisa Abela as Amy. She doesn’t lip-sync. Instead, she learned how to vocalise like her and, to my ear, the sound – that sound, the one that was always astonishing when it came out of her (gobby) mouth – is a decent approximation. To be clear: I definitely like Amy Winehouse but have never laid flowers outside her Camden house, so others may tear apart this bit of the performance. Otherwise, Abela, who was magnificent in HBO’s Industry, is magnificent here, capturing an Amy who is strong and fragile, needy and tough, charismatic and defiant. She also captures the self-destructiveness that the fans are always trying to lay at someone’s door.

The first act – which is always the best act, before it all goes wrong – opens at a family party, a Jewish knees-up in Southgate, north London, at the home of her beloved nan, Cynthia (Lesley Manville). She performs ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ with her father, Mitch (Eddie Marsan, everyone’s favourite non-Jewish Jew) and then returns to her mother’s place as her parents are separated.

Her mother barely figures; I don’t know why. Sitting on the edge of her mattress, she writes a song, ‘What is it About Men’ – these films always make composition look so easy – which is actually about her father’s infidelity. While Asif Kapadia’s documentary laid a hefty amount at Mitch’s door, this, which was made with the family’s cooperation, does not. This Mitch is a loving presence, constantly saying ‘don’t do drugs’ which, script-wise, is unforgiveable. (I said this was better than I expected it to be, not that it was first-rate.)

You get 20 minutes of ‘upward spiral’ before she meets Blake Fielder-Civil, the man she would marry, and who is said to have introduced her to heroin. She already has an alcohol problem when they meet in a pub; her issues seem to go way back. And, yes, he’s a drug addict – but he is also, if you believe this portrayal, a loveable Jack-the-lad whom she finds irresistible. There’s the scene in the zoo, then the film charts their toxic, co-dependent relationship. The part of Amy that would allow this isn’t explored but, to be fair, there is only so much one film can do.

Taylor-Johnson tells the story in an episodic way, thereby avoiding some of the usual clichés, but it sometimes doesn’t make sense. Amy doesn’t do drugs and then suddenly she does. One minute she’s singing in pubs and the next Frank is in the charts. There are joyful moments, however, and, on the whole, she is treated with affection and dignity. In short there are aspects to admire – even if the fans will hate it.