SEX & DRUGS & ROCK & ROLL (15).

Drama. Andy Serkis, Bill Milner, Olivia Williams, Naomie Harris, Tom Hughes, Toby Jones, Ray Winstone, Mackenzie Crook, Noel Clarke, Charlotte Beaumont, Wesley Nelson.

Distinguished by an incendiary lead performance from Andy Serkis, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll is a freewheeling biopic of 1970s punk pioneer Ian Dury that is every bit as unconventional and fantastical as the man himself.

Director Mat Whitecross chops back and forth in time to create a mosaic of flashbacks, dream sequences and musical interludes that leaves us none the wiser about the emotional turmoil which drove Dury towards the abyss.

“To be a bloke like me, you’ve got to be a selfish loony,” comments the musician. That would be an understatement.

As depicted here, Dury is selfish, arrogant and foul-mouthed, ignoring the advice of loved ones to pursue his self-destructive course, which somehow includes a million-selling album and a UK number one single.

Concert performances bookmark the narrative, opening with a spirited rendition of Billericay Dickie that introduces Ian (Serkis) as narrator of his own sorry tale.

The chart-topping Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick gets an airing and Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3 plays over the end credits.

In its peculiar, haphazard way, Whitecross’s film charts the formative years of young Ian (Nelson), after he contracts polio, which leaves him paralysed down the left side of his body.

Sent to a school for disabled children, he falls victim to tyrannical tutor Hargreaves (Jones) but clings on to the words of his father (Winstone): “Nobody out there’s gonna help you. You’re born alone and you die alone.”

Musical ambitions consume Ian in the 1970s and he neglects his wife Betty (Williams) and children Jemima (Beaumont) and Baxter (Milner).

In an attempt to rebuild bridges with the lad, Ian allows Baxter to live with him and new girlfriend Denise (Harris), shouting down the lad’s headmistress when she calls to find out why he isn’t in school.

The youngster witnesses his father’s descent and inevitably tries to mould himself in his father’s image, bringing Baxter into close contact with the pills, thrills and bellyaches of the title.

Serkis’s riveting portrayal of the musical icon sucks all of the oxygen out of Whitecross’s vision. Only Milner makes a lasting impact, metamorphosing from a shy, lonely child into a quiffed, angry rebel without a cause. Williams and Harris shed tears as the two women in Dury’s life but like so many characters in Paul Viragh’s screenplay, the film surveys them from a distance.

Hyperactive editing undermines some sequences, leaving us disoriented as if we’ve been clobbered by the infamous rhythm stick.

“Sometimes it doesn’t work out,” Betty tells Denise tenderly, encouraging her think twice about her relationship with Dury.

In the case of Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll, sometimes it doesn’t.

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