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Peter Doherty: Stranger In My Own Skin review – the moments of honesty are utterly arresting

Doherty’s wife’s intimate, up-close-and-personal film about the star’s messy relationship with hard drugs might be lacking in analysis – but the genuine soul-baring is captivating

At risk of sounding like James Murphy on Losing My Edge, LCD Soundsystem’s timeless ode to ageing, I was there (at least for some of it), and it really was thrilling and messy and vibrant. You do wonder if, with all the talk of freedom and artistry, of Wilde and Dostoevsky and his beloved James Joyce, of the weird nostalgia inherent in calling heroin “laudanum, opium”, there is going to be a risk of, if not glamorising, then at least romanticising his addiction, setting him up as a kind of social outlaw. He talks, briefly, about his difficult relationship with his military father, about his years as a fixture of the tabloids, even a bit about prison, but these clear-eyed interludes usually drift off into the ether, half-formed, meandering towards another painting or poem or song.

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