“The last one in the water is a crap interviewer!” declares The Libertines’ co-frontman Pete Doherty, before charging straight into the choppy chilly seas of Normandy.
Hobbling in after him, Louis Theroux – who first made his name infiltrating a series of weird and sinister subcultures in the late Nineties, before catching some of our biggest celebrities off-guard with his curious, probling style of questioning later on – warily gives chase, before being wrestled into the sea by his latest interview subject. It's all very surreal.
Originally rising to fame as the rakish, trilby-wearing co-singer of The Libertines, the band he formed with Carl Barat in 1997, Doherty was an icon of the sleazy early Noughties indie era; but his musical talent and gift for songwriting was often eclipsed by his substance addiction issues and frequent brushes with the law. These days, he now lives a relatively quiet existence in Normandy with his wife Katia, and their young daughter Billie-May - and in this film, he veers between excessive chirpiness and frequently tearful bouts of morose introspection.
He has been clean since late 2019. Earlier that year I briefly crossed paths with Doherty; it was a time when he frequently insisted that his most troubled days were behind him, but he also seemed like a man who was completely lost; both during live shows with The Libertines, and off-stage.
In November 2019 he was arrested twice in Paris within the same week. As he explains in this documentary, this final incident marked a turning point, and his now-wife Katia issued an ultimatum. Get clean, or get out. He opted for the former. It makes for moving and upsetting viewing as Doherty recounts how he reached rock bottom.
It is also upsetting to compare this version of Doherty with the charismatic likely lad who helped to define Noughties indie. But this film is also hopeful, as he is clearly in a better place than those dark times.
Though certain scenes are in-keeping with Theroux’s immersive style of interviewing (seeing Doherty perform a Lara Croft-style action hero roll under a fence in order to escape from a cow, watched by Theroux and a nonchalant husky, is a particular unexpected highlight), the majority of the episode’s conversations take place on Doherty’s turf, in his home studio.
When more uncomfortable questions crop up – about his history of addiction, his current health issues, or the unresolved death of Mark Blanco – Doherty has a habit of disappearing behind a gigantic hanky.
Theroux does not always probe Doherty, whose jolly facade sometimes feels like it’s distracting from the parts of himself he’s less willing to reveal. Reflecting on how he used to put addiction above everything else in his life, Doherty shares an unsavoury anecdote about New Zealand butter which is best not repeated here, jokes and makes light of how many pieces of Kate Moss memorabilia he’s found lying around, and performs a chipper rendition of Can’t Stand Me Now for Theroux.
When he’s asked about the inspiration behind the hit, and whether it relates to his relationship with bandmate and creative soulmate Carl Barat however, he shuts down - though the band have never been tighter live, and seem reinvigorated, there are clearly unhealed wounds from the past that Doherty can’t quite bear to confront yet.
As a consequence, these amusing snippets jar with darker moments. After a worrying choking episode, he eventually admits that he fears he won’t live to see his youngest daughter grow up, and seems visibly very unwell: “You are looking at a very sick man,” he says. “I f**king battered it, didn’t I, caned it…. Death’s lurking.”
After barging into his bandmate Carl Barat’s dressing room for some cheery, pre-show japes, it becomes clear that the pair have a complicated present-day relationship following their tumultuous past; they both break down in tears as they discuss Doherty breaking into and burgling Barat’s flat.
Speaking about the death of Mark Blanco (who died in unclear circumstances after falling from a balcony at a party Doherty also attended) he admits that he did indeed run away from the scene, fleeing past Blanco as he lay dying.
“Maybe I should have stood my ground and had the balls to flush everything down the toilet and be there when the police came,” he says. “I never met [his mother] Sheila Blanco, but I can understand her anger, and her anger at me is misplaced,” he says elsewhere. “It’s all so shady and f**ked up.”
By the time we reach Doherty and Theroux frolicking in the sea, we’ve certainly got to know the indie musician a little better, but – unlike Theroux, as he struggles to avoid being chucked under an incoming wave by his latest subject – he’s rarely caught unawares.
