By the time Hunter S. Thompson took his own life in 2005, his legacy, though secure, was somewhat tarnished by decades of over eager fans and weak imitators who, far too often, took the good doctor’s free-flowing new journalism as a licence to abandon actual work in favour of lengthy tales about the setting on their toaster. ‘Gonzo’ had, sadly, become a dirty word, no longer a recommendation but the lowest form of intellectual endeavour. It did not help, of course, that Thompson produced little of literary note since the ‘70s, leaving only a small number of spiritual heirs (frequently around the documentary sector) to fly the flag.
Oscar- winner Alex Gibney’s (Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room, Taxi To The Dark Side) biographical documentary is a delightful, stirring entertainment that seems to wrestle its subject’s modus operandi away from student stringers who desperately want to tell you about their yeast infections. The film cannot provide a satisfactory explanation as to why Thompson’s later writings lacked a certain something. But it does remind you of the iconoclast’s potency between 1968 and 1972 when his (still sparkling) accounts of hanging out with Hell’s Angels and presidential hopeful George McGovern were the hottest ticket in town.
Johnny Depp, who, together with Benicio del Toro, paid for Thompson’s lavish 2005 funeral, revisits his turn in the underrated film adaptation of Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas by popping up as a reader between frank talking heads and remarkable archive footage. Mr. Gibney’s film is, in this respect, a straightforward affair jollied along by straightforward shots of period turbulence and a straightforward soundtrack.
A teaching film, Gonzo may be the Matthew’s Gospel of rock-docs, a narrative and discourse that will charm the uninitiated and the evangelical fan in equal measure.