The film reveals the erudition and shrewd self-awareness that Jim Osterberg drew on to become Iggy Pop.
It ends on a muted whimper of a note that one doesn’t expect given that the film’s subject is such an immensely entertaining raconteur.
The film is a haunting whodunit, a glimpse inside a nasty, ruthless artistic environment, and an example of the limits of nonfiction biography.