Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll

The curtain opens, the spotlight is in position and the pale faced, charismatic, DIY aficionado appears. Ian Dury quickly became an Eighties icon thanks to his haphazard performances and inspired use of language. Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll tells the story of this new wave beacon (played by Andy Serkis) through an exploration of the disability which he gained through early polio and the tremulous relationship he had with his two children.

Serkis delivers a spine-chilling performance. He never settles on whether Dury is obnoxious or lovable, difficult or desirable and it's through this neverending flux that his passion and intent effervesces. A sense of restlessness and chaos is never far away and the film reflects these aspects of Dury's persona. With snapshots and flashbacks of his distraught upbringing in a hospital for disabled children we are rarely allowed to forget why Dury is the way he is and this jilted style of direction maintains the pace. The inclusion of the animation of Peter Blake - whose bright and vivid depictions of Seventies London act as a stark contrast to the the dark and sullied realities Dury's true life - is also inspired.

At heart, this is a portrayal of a father and son's calamitous relationship. Dury's own guilt towards how he has brought up Baxter (Ben Milner) is coupled with his inability to overcome it due to the grievance he has with his own father's abandonment of him. Perhaps the film's only downfall is in the confusingly incoherent portrayal of Baxter. Milner showed great potential in earlier films - such as Son Of Rambow - where his innocence and charm were highlighted in equal doses - yet there is something grating and unbalanced in this, his most recent work. What should have been a portrayal of a son in turmoil over his father's volatility becomes an annoyingly whiny performance that jades a potentially heart-breaking plot.

Despite this, the positives are plentiful, with the biggest and most surprising being Serkis's impressive vocals. The exhaustive passion as he performs on stage is electrifying and atmospheric and the fact that they are original vocals performed with The Blockheads themselves only elevates the film's authenticity and power. This is matched by the pantomime-esque theatricality of Dury's narration throughout. At times, he is a pithy, charming and highly intelligent presence, while in the next second we are led to despise his frivolous and ultimately selfish lifestyle.

There is some confusion as to where director Mat Whitecross wants to go with the film and how he wants it to be defined and it is this dip in consistency which prevents it from becoming a masterpiece. That said, Serkis gives the hauntingly raw performance of his career and defines himself as a true British talent, managing to balance both the fragility and aggression of a man in crisis. It would have been easy to produce a film that looked at Dury through rose-tinted glasses, illuminating his iconic status and avoiding all the 'nasty bits' but instead is an unapologetic embrace of his faults and flaws.