Only Pulp could make a bus queue sound like a founding myth. Hand me a comeback tour, a few choice anecdotes and some dramatic hair, and I'm sold.
Jarvis Cocker has spent his career making social awkwardness sound like a manifesto. Here, he makes Pulp's return feel like the manifesto's final chapter.
The trouble is, the film is caught between a gig and a biography: one wants to rock, the other wants footnotes. I enjoyed both, but found myself wishing for a few more deep cuts. F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E. is a glorious exception, turning emotional dysfunction into an anthem.
Thoroughly good fun, even if it occasionally feels like Pulp have been asked to perform their own Wikipedia page.