Bookended by a radio interview in which German gothmother Nico likens eighties Manchester to postwar Berlin; dwelling upon her final years as a self-confessed "fat old junkie" with only fleeting flashbacks to her days as Andy Warhol's muse (her participation in 'La Dolce Vita' isn't even mentioned), the portrait that emerges is more like that of a punk rocker than of a hippy.
With a cigarette permenantly hanging from her lips Trine Dyrholm's throaty rendition of her songs give them a resonance similar to the latter day Marianne Faithfull. (To my untutored ear the way she croaks her way through 'Nature Boy' supplies a poignancy similar to Claire Trevor singing 'Moanin' Low' in 'Key Largo'.)
