Pulp: A Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets

The live performances are electrifying, all jagged elbows and brilliant pop tunes, with the band suitably assisted not by drugs and booze, but by a neatly organised display of treatments for colds, incontinence and light grazes. On the subject of fame, Cocker asserts boldly that "it didn't agree with me – like a nut allergy". Hardcore indeed.

An earthy, affecting and droll celebration of the unique alignment of influences that forged a great band – and the thrusting live footage rams Pulp’s greatness home.

There’s a sense that the band has left its mark on Sheffield as surely as the city left its mark on the band. This concert might be Pulp’s last hometown appearance, but it hardly seems like goodbye.

As celebrated in Habicht’s warmly human documentary, Pulp has always been defiantly different.

As a filmic love letter to Sheffield, the resulting doc is full of small delights for serious Pulp fans.

Cocker's magnetic persona is a huge part of Pulp's identity, but it's not the band's greatest legacy. So don't be surprised when Cocker's gas-leak hiss of a voice is drowned out by smoke machine cannons, and fails to swell until it bursts at the end of "Common People."

You can't help thinking he's missed the point of Pulp. Their music denigrated the people as much as it celebrated them. Habicht leaves the city in love with a surface-level reading of Cocker's take on it.