An all too flitting account of Gainsbourg’s life that merely skims over the surface of key events – anti-Semitism, creative impetus, abortive affairs, etc. – and offers too little in the way of critical analysis or penetration.

Instead we’re left with an abbreviated (in scale if not length) ‘tick-list’ of recognisable situations that wallow in the shallows before descending down a narrative spiral into something of a whimper, with one not much the wiser on Gainsbourg’s creativity than two hours hence.

The device of the alter-ego remains diverting rather than intrinsic or inspired, eventually only adding left-field distractions to an otherwise rather pedestrian take on excess. What this cries out for is an altogether more riotous, dirty and messier affair which may have offered more truths than just the motifs.