Parky at the Pictures (DVD 27/4/2017)

When he first receives the score from composer Nico Mulhy in June, Millepied has no title and no clear concept of what he wants to do with the production. He relies heavily on personal assistant Virginia Gris (herself a former dancer) to handle the administrative side of his new job and struggles to find his way around the premises. It doesn't help that each rehearsal seems to take place in a different part of the building, with an initial workout in Le Foyer being followed by sessions in the Noureev, Franchetti, Lifar, Chauviré, Zambelli and Petipa studios. Away from the corps, Millepied is shown listening to the music and scribbling in notebooks, but not once does he explain his concept or vision and Demaizière and Teurlai resort to fussy montages and booming yellow countdown captions to create some sort of suspense.

With 38 days to go before the curtain rises, accompanist Elena Bonnay and Sebastien Marcovi (the ballet master and principal dancer of the New York City Ballet) join Millepied to choreograph some steps with a couple of unnamed dancers. He shows Teurlai's camera that he is reading Joanna Barsh's book, Centered Leadership: Leading with Purpose, Clarity, and Impact, and laughs. But he is riled by the state of the stage technology and is frustrated when Opera director Stéphane Lissner informs him and union official Erwan le Roux that they barely have enough money to mount nine original shows a year. Seemingly unprepared the backstage politics, Millepied focuses on new ways of attracting attention for the corps and he takes to the Opera roof to enthuse about La 3e Scène, a digital platform for new works that director Dimitri Chamblas assures him has received 100,000 hits. The pair have been friends for many years and Chamblas avers that Millepied learned how to be fearless during his time in the Senegalese capital, Dakar. However, Millepied attributes much to the fact that his father was a sportsman who instilled the notion of natural expression mattering more than technique. He admits to finding the atmosphere somewhat stifling, but vows to lead by example and he is shown dancing in slow-motion while wearing a set of headphones. Despite being in situ for seven months, Millepied clearly feels like an outsider and his conversation with dance administrator Olivier Aldeano about a set of benches he needs building for the set proves as eggshell-like as his discussions with costumier Iris Van Herpen and couture head Xavier Ronze. But the size of the task facing him becomes clear during a pageant designed to give aspirants a chance to impress the creative team, as Millepied decries the competitive nature of rising through the ranks and the racism that prevents dancers of colour from landing major roles. He is outraged by the argument that a black principal would distract the audience and vows to cast on merit. Yet, rather than exploring these contentious issues in depth, Demaizière and Teurlai drop in another flashy montage sequence before cutting away to Millepied explaining to rehearsal coach Janie Taylor how he will use light and movement to give the ballet a sensational opening.

There are now 28 days left to prepare and Millepied breaks the news that Maxime Pascal will conduct the performance and that the lighting effects will be provided by United Visual Artists. However, the rehearsal goes badly and Millepied complains that it takes time to discover a dancer's personality and find the best way to exploit it for the greater good. He mulls over his reform plans with principal dancer and artistic collaborator Benjamin Pech and stage manager Renaud Fauviau before Demaizière and Teurlai go off at a complete tangent to introduce sujets Marion Barbeau (24), Alex Ibot (29) and Germain Louvet (21) and coryphée Letizia Galloni, who is one of the very few black dancers in the company. Each is given a moment to describe how they became hooked on ballet and the sacrifices they have made to get this far before they are shown dancing in slo-mo. As before, Demaizière and Teurlai place undue emphasis on feet, heads and arms and, thus, disregard the lessons taught by Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly of filming the full body in motion in order to capture its kinetic energy and physical grace.

Props manager Arnaud Dastouet is having problems producing benches to Millepied's specifications. But he is too busy watching a ballet on his laptop to address the concerns that Gris relates and, as a result, the problem remains unsolved. She tries to remind him about an imminent round of interviews and Chamblas suggests that Millepied will quit if he feels constricted. He also implies that he needs to have fun, but there is little evidence of enjoyment as Millepied bemoans the surfeit of complacency and the lack of excellence within the corps. Yet, Demaizière and Teurlai miss the opportunity to gauge the extent to which Millepied is judging the dancers by his own high standards, as he is forever being frustrated by their struggle to master what he considers to be easy steps.

It might also have been useful at this juncture to examine the reaction of the group to their new boss, as the majority will be used to working with Lefèvre. But the emphasis remains on Millepied's rather nebulous determination to change the culture of the entire institution without identifying many specifics or achievable goals. He frets over the lack of a title, as he continues to choreograph in his office. Yet, with just over three weeks of rehearsal time to go, he is still unwilling or unable to offer any thematic or artistic insight into a piece that will go a long way to setting the tone for his tenure.

He does, however, expose the cavalier attitude towards the well-being of the dancers and uses the fact that one of the male leads is hiding an injury to bring in doctors Xavière Barreau and Yoann Bohu, who urge everyone to warm-up and rest properly and to admit to niggles rather than trying to tough it out. Millepied decides that the wooden flooring in the studios is contributing to the excessive wear and tear and demands that it is replaced immediately. But this overhaul will have to wait, as Millepied is about to make history by starring Galloni in Frederick Ashton's interpretation of La Fille Mal Gardée, which was first performed in Paris in the epochal year of 1789. Étoile Aurélie Dupont commends her on her achievement, but Millepied has no time to dwell on Galloni's triumph, as he has a solitary working supper in an empty restaurant.

A flurry of meetings intercut with slo-mo dance snippets follows in a bid to convey the difficulty of trying to create while juggling administrative chores. But such editorial skittishness seems primarily intent on making Millepied look chic and one is left longing for the observational detachment of Frederick Wiseman's La Danse (2009), which covered much the same ground without drawing quite so much attention to itself.

Following a five-week summer break, the company reassembles in September to learn that two operas have been cancelled because of a strike by the theatre's technicians. Taking this development in his stride, Millepied declares the stage to be a disgrace and insists that its wooden boards are replaced as quickly as possible. Maxim Pascal now joins the team and he looks on as three days are compressed into another montage that centres on Millepied demonstrating how he wants certain set-pieces to be performed. It's clear that things are not going as well as he had expected and he announces that he would rather postpone the premiere than compromise his reputation. Yet, when the threat of another strike threatens to delay the production, he complains that his efforts will be wasted and channels his frustration into row about the need to play `La Marseillaise' at the start of the evening. Seeking solace in an orchestra rehearsal, Millepied awaits news of the strike ballot and curses one of the female dancers for hiding the fact she has been receiving ultrasound treatment on an undisclosed foot injury. He gives her a deep tissue massage and she winces with pain and tries to crawl away from him. But he remains relentless in trying to get the best out of the ensemble and, with 10 days to go, he declares he is back on track. Yet it's difficult to discern what progress is actually being made, as Teurlai and fellow editor Alice Moine chop the footage of the first run-through into jagged fragments that are fussily edited to create a blur of movement without giving the viewer any chance to appreciate the craft of the dancers or the intellectual content of the show.

With a week to go, Nico Mulhy arrives in Paris and addresses Pascal's problems with the score. They tear a page out of the manuscript and Mulhy shreds it without any sign of ego. But the sense that the production is flying by the seat of its pants is reaffirmed when Lucy Carter from UVA comes to the theatre with five days left to sort out the last remaining lighting issues. The following day, the dancers try on their costumes (for what seems to be the first time) and Millepied dispenses with them when he realises that they are hindering movement without adding to the visual spectacle. They also take to the stage for the first run through and they remain there for the next two days, as an obfuscatory rehearsal montage plays out to some excruciating Pierre Aviat synth music.

But the big day finally arrives and Millepied annoys the hairdressing staff by deciding at the eleventh hour that the female dancers should wear their hair up. Undaunted, he assembles the cast on the stage and gives them a pep talk about maintaining their focus and energy. As he finds his seat, we are shown the opening moments from the back of the auditorium, with the result that the dancers are dots and it's difficult to assess the ingenuity of the lighting design. But, rather than letting us watch the performance, Demaizière and Teurlai cross-cut between a seemingly poignant duet and scenes from the rehearsal rooms, as though to emphasise the effort that goes in to such effortless artistry.

Even more bewilderingly, the co-directors slow the action down and replace Mulhy's score with some more of Aviat's grating electronica. They return to ambient sound in time for Millepied to shout `bravo' above the wildly enthusiastic applause during the curtain calls. But no critical eye is cast over proceedings before this muddle of a movie concludes with a caption announcing baldly that Millepied resigned four months later. The absence of a reason for his decision epitomises the obsequious superficiality of a profile that manages to uncover little or nothing about its subject's personality or the thinking behind his closely guarded creative process.

Best known to cinemagoers for his work on Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan (2010), during the making of which he met future wife Natalie Portman, Millepied is clearly a charismatic character and an ambitious artist. But he also seems skilled at keeping Demaizière and Teurlai at a distance, while seeming to give them unprecedented access to his first months in control. The size of his task might have been made more apparent had the film-makers bothered with any contextualising background. But they plunge into the artificial 39-day schedule without addressing any of the attenuating circumstances and, consequently, Millepied is depicted as a maverick genius who is too much of a free spirit to be confined by the stuffy traditions and regulations of the ancien régime running the Opera.

Every fly-on-the-wall documentary depends on interesting things happening while the camera is rolling and Demaizière and Teurlai can curse their luck that this happened to be such an uneventful production. But the fact that Millepied quit a cherished post so soon before he could mount a second show suggests that the duo were unaware of the bigger story breaking under their noses. Teurlai proves himself to be a nimble and inquisitive cameraman, but his framing during the studio and stage sequences leaves much to be desired (at least as far as musical purists are concerned), while his editing (notwithstanding a glut of irksome flash-cut inter-sequence montages) is far too self-conscious and fidgety for a subject that requires a little static scrutiny and discretion.

Steven Cantor's Dancer is another profile of a wunderkind who finds his talent more of a burden than a blessing. Like Benjamin Millepied, Sergei Polunin had taken the ballet world by storm by achieving so much at such a young age. But, while Millepied walked out on the Paris Opera Ballet shortly after his headline-making appointment as artistic director, so Polunin turned his back on the Royal Ballet Company after becoming its youngest-ever principal and this handsome, if somewhat superficial study seeks to fathom his reasons for discarding what seemed to be the chance of a lifetime.

Born in the southern Ukrainian town of Kherson in November 1989, Sergei Polunin began gymnastics training as a young boy. Parents Vladimir and Galina had been informed by doctors of his remarkable flexibility when he was still an infant and they took pride in filming his performances on their camcorder. But Galina was convinced that her son had the ability to become a ballet dancer and local tutor Galina Ivanovna suggested enrolling Sergei in a specialist school in Kiev. Keen to ensure he fulfilled his potential, the Polunins decided that Vladimir would seek work in Portugal, while mother-in-law Larissa would find a job in Greece so that Galina could move to the capital and provide Sergei with a little stability.

Such was his progress that Sergei was invited to apply for the Royal Ballet School and Galina accompanied him to the audition in London. After a nerve-racking delay, the 13 year-old was accepted and, despite initially being unable to speak a word of English, he quickly became firm friends with classmates Jade Hale-Christofi and Valentino Zucchetti. They were impressed by his grace and athleticism, but also amused by a lack of party stamina that frequently prompted them to draw on his face while he slept. Sergei also struck up a relationship with guardian Salvatore Scalzo, who cut his charges some slack so that they could enjoy themselves away from the rigours of the course.

While still studying, Sergei was cast in solo spots in Royal Ballet productions and made history when, in 2009, the 19 year-old became the youngest principal dancer in the history of the corps. At first, he enjoyed the adulation and the trappings of fame, as the press pursued him as doggedly as his new legion of fans. But the pressure of maintaining his standards began to tell and, amidst rumours he was dabbling in drink and drugs, Sergei resigned from the company two years later.

Former director Dame Monica Mason recognises the enormity of the demands being made on Sergei to be pitch perfect every night. But Cantor implies that he had never recovered from the fact that his parents had divorced when he was 15 and the guilt of driving a wedge between them sapped his energy and enthusiasm. The need to be free from routine is tellingly captured in some phone footage of Sergei stripping naked in a London street to frolic in the snow. But he was also aware that it would be frivolous to fritter his talent and he travelled to Moscow to participate in Bolshoi Ballet, a Russian television show to discover new dancers.

Earning tens across the board from his first appearance, Sergei took the title and was snapped up by Igor Zelensky, the iconic dancer who had become artistic director at the Stanislavsky Theatre. He provided Sergei with the paternal guidance he had been lacking, although Vladimir was hurt to see him described as a father figure after he has sacrificed so much to help his son find fame. Once again, however, Sergei opted to fly the nest after two years and he became something of a nomad, as he headlined Adolphe Adam's Giselle in Kiev and Aram Khachaturian's Spartacus in the Siberian city of Novosobirsk.

As he reveals to Cantor, Sergei resents being forced to dance simply because he is good at it. He detests the toll it takes on his body and admits that he sometimes longs for a serious injury that would end his career. But, following a trip to Kiev to see his mother and look around the neighbourhood her dedication helped him escape (not that he seems particularly grateful, as he blames her for forcing him into a lifestyle he often loathes), he begins to contemplate his future. Vladimir opines that he is lucky to have had a mother who devoted herself to his progression, but Sergei seems more at ease when he visits Galina Ivanovna at her dance school in Kherson and he sweeps her up in his arms in front of her adoring pupils.

Rather than ending, however, Sergei's story was about to veer off in an unexpected direction after the 25 year-old summoned Jade Hale-Christofi to Los Angeles in 2015 to help him choreograph a swan song piece to the Hozier song `Take Me to Church'. Hiring photographer David LaChapelle to shoot the video in Hawaii, Sergei threw himself into the leaps and pirouettes that were made to seem all the more magical by the shafts of sunlight criss-crossing the high-beamed setting. But even he was taken aback when the footage went viral (it has since amassed around 18 million hits on YouTube) and dancers around the world declared him an inspiration. Suitably buoyed, Sergei accepted an invitation to dance a selection of Jerome Robbins routines at the Stanislavsky Theatre and, for once, Vladimir, Galina and Larissa were allowed to attend and their pride as they watch the show and greet Sergei backstage gives the film some much-needed poignancy.

The curse of the documentarist is to stop shooting at the wrong moment and Cantor breaks off before Polunin embarked upon the romance with ballerina Natalia Osipova that has supposedly re-ignited his love for dance. But he still covers a lot of ground in this thoughtful portrait that also draws parallels between Polunin's haphazard progress and the failure of so many Eastern European nations to capitalise on the opportunities that arose following the collapse of Communism. Yet, despite having access to footage from Polunin's childhood onwards, he doesn't really get under the tattooed skin of a wannabe rock star (note the calculating use of Black Sabbath's `Iron Man') who seems to have viewed this collaboration as another chance to promote his bad boy image and reinforce the myth of the tormented genius.

There is no question that Polunin can dance and the pain that comes with this gift is undoubtedly genuine. But, while he still may be haunted by the break-up of the family he has often subsequently kept at arm's length, he is far too shrewd an operator to let Cantor beyond the barriers he has erected to protect himself. Thus, this often feels more like a glossy show reel than an in-depth analysis of Polunin and his art.

Niall McCann's Lost in France is one of those music documentaries that is so specific to a particular time and place that it's almost impossible to appreciate if you weren't there at precisely the right moment. It harks back to a show that was played at the Momo Club in the small town of Mauron in 1997 by a clutch of Glaswegian indie combos on the Chemikal Underground label. For those making the return pilgrimage in 2015, this is clearly a journey to the centre of their collective past. But, while they may be touched by the sense of camaraderie and nostalgia on show, anyone unfamiliar with the works of Mogwai, The Delgados, Bis, Arab Strap and The Karelia are going to wonder what all the fuss is about.

Staged by Mauron festival programmer David Sosson, the gig was nowhere near as epochal as, say, The Sex Pistols playing Manchester's Lesser Free Trade Hall. But it is clearly seen as a landmark moment in the evolution of Glasgow post-rock music scene in the mid-1990s and Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite, El Hombre Trajeado's RM Hubbert, Delgados Stewart Henderson, Emma Pollock and Paul Savage, and future Franz Ferdinand frontman Alex Kapranos all reflect on the period with a mixture of misty eyes and regret that the music industry has changed so much that it is unlikely that a similar creative flourishing will happen any time soon.

More intriguingly, however, Kapranos muses on the fact that changes to the benefits system have done much to limit the options of up-and-coming musicians, as they can no longer rely on dole payments while they refine their sound in their bedrooms. Moreover, they cannot hope to be sent on training courses to learn how to use mixing desks or operate a studio. But the switch to downloads and streaming has also done much to decimate record label culture and Henderson recognises that Chemikal Underground happened along at the right time, as venues like King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, Nice `n' Sleazy, Barrowlands and The 13th Note played host to emerging talents with something to say about being young and disillusioned in a newly devolved Scotland at a time when the rest of the country was fixated on Girl Power and Britpop.

Frustratingly, McCann makes no concession to those not already au fait with the featured bands and references to appearances on John Peel's Radio One show and Top of the Pops will mean as much to many as the Delgados album, The Great Eastern, which was nominated for the Mercury Prize in 2000. Furthermore, the shift of focus between the six travellers prevents them from making the impact that Arab Strap's Aidan Moffat was able to make in Paul Fegan's engaging Where You're Meant to Be (2016). Pollock and Savage talk a little about their personal relationship and how they keep plugging away with music even though its financial rewards are meagre, while the others flick through old photos and press cuttings, revisit a golden tree in the lush Breton countryside and reminisce about a football match against the locals (that was nearly ruined by the brawny bus driver) and the perilous ferry crossing that almost ended the story before it began.

When not filling the screen with self-consciously Godardian captions, McCann finds time for anecdotes by the likes of onetime promoter Tam Coyle, DJ Mark Percival, photographer Stephanie Gibson, 13th Note owner Craig Tannock, James Graham from The Twilight Sad, Andy Wake of The Phantom Band, and Manda Rin and Sci-fi Steven from Bis. He also periodically cuts away to Rick Flick and Pat M'Bongo of The Johnny 7, who appear to be busking on a Glasgow street. But their significance is not explained and their witty brand of working-men's club muzak seems to sit awkwardly alongside the `serious' stuff seen in archive material or performed on the tiny Mauron stage.

Between the banter on the mini-coach and in the farmhouse where they rehearse, there is plenty of music. Among the archive material are extracts from The Delgados's `Strathcona Slung' and `American Trilogy', Trout's `Owl in the Tree', Bis's `Kandy Pop', Arab Strap's `The First Big Weekend' and Holy Mountain's `Earth Measures', while the live clips in front of an appreciative rather than enthusiastic crowd include Braithwaite's `Cody' and `Mogwai Fear Satan', Hubbert's `False Bride' and `For Joe', and Pollock's `Cannot Keep a Secret'. It's interesting to note that only one of her songs makes the cut, while she is absent from The Maurons, the ad hoc combo comprising Kapranos, Savage, Hubbert and Braithwaite, who close the show with `Jacqueline' and `Owl in the Tree'. But, for all the happy chat, a lot is left unsaid in this genial, but elusive and somewhat evasive study.

Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) was nicknamed Lou Gehrig's Disease after the Major League baseball hero played by Gary Cooper in Sam Wood's The Pride of the Yankees (1942). Coop received one of 11 Oscar nominations garnered by a sentimental tribute that finds a real-life companion in Clay Tweel's documentary, Gleason, which charts former American footballer Steve Gleason's battle with the same condition. Famed for a blocked punt that helped the New Orleans Saints to a famous victory over the Atlanta Falcons in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, the 34 year-old Gleason announced his diagnosis in 2011, three years after his retirement and shortly after he had discovered that artist wife Michel Varisco was expecting their first child.

Determined to leave son Rivers something to remember him by, Gleason hooked up with film-maker Sean Pamphilon. However, the popular defensive back continued to wield the camera himself after the liaison ended suddenly when relations with Pamphilon broke down over the release of audio recordings of Saints players supposedly being offered bonuses for injuring opponents in what became known as the Bountygate scandal. Few British viewers will be familiar with this incident or Gleason's sporting achievements. But this is still an inspirational insight into one man's struggle and how debilitating diseases like ALS impact upon the patient's family and friends.

Considered too small by many to be a linebacker, Gleason came through the Washington State Cougars to sign for New Orleans after a short stint with the Indianapolis Colts. His seminal moment came in the Louisiana Superdome that had housed refugees during the 2005 floods, although he was also awarded a ring by the franchise when it won the Super Bowl the year after he retired in 2008. But more courage goes into a triathlon with pals (involving beer drinking, running and swimming) than any of his footballing feats and Michel has to fight back the tears when she sees how much her super-fit hunk husband is struggling just four months into a battle that could be over in as little as two years.

Deciding to make the most of their time together, they go on an Alaskan odyssey with his dad Mike and cousin Brendan Webber sharing the driving. This persuades him to sort out his relationships and interviews Mike and mother Gail about their arguments and divorce and how he and older brother Kyle got through it. Mike admits to pushing him hard because he saw he had talent. Steve also took out his anger on the pitch and rose high enough to play in the Rose Bowl in 1998. He believes he got determination and a willingness to work hard from his father (who went into therapy for workaholism), but he doesn't share his old-fashioned religious views and thinks faith should be about love not fear.

However, he agrees to go to a faith-healing session with Pastor Kevin Dedmon and Michel gets angry with Mike when Steve goes to the front of the church and tries to run and falls down after a few steps. She pleads with him to stop, as she doesn't want him getting false hope or putting himself through situations that will humiliate and/or frustrate him. But she is right beside him, nine months after his diagnosis, when he is made honorary captain of the Saints for the day and he puts his No.37 shirt on again and takes a salute on the pitch. This persuades him to launch the Team Gleason charity to spread awareness to help others going through the same ordeal.

Michel gets upset when Steve puts his hand over her mouth during a Skype call about the foundation and he apologies while she is cleaning her teeth. His sincerity is better than his sense of timing, however, and they are soon heading to the hospital for Michel to give birth. The happy event is filmed using two cameras and she smiles with tired pride, as Steve records a blog explaining the choice of name (because rivers are the source of fire). Back home, though, she fights back tears watching their wedding video as she feeds Rivers and Steve dozes.

He does a blog on his insecurities and how hard it is to be an inspiration when he feels so frail. But the charity gets the backing of some big names, including Pearl Jam heroes Eddie Vedder and Mike McCready. He also starts recording words so that his voicebox sounds like him rather than Stephen Hawking and keeps vlogging for Rivers so he knows how much he loves him, even though he finds it hard to hold him. Some of the images of the baby smiling beside his dad are adorable, as Steve promises to be there for him as long as he can. But he is also becoming increasingly aware of his dependence on Michel for basic daily tasks and the footage is cut in such a way as to suggests that she is now taking care of two pretty much helpless individuals.

Worried that Michel is getting frazzled after Steve is confined to a wheelchair for much of the time, they recruit Blair Casey to be Steve's caretaker (Michel used to babysit him as a kid) and he forms part of a new `badass unit' to keep Steve active and fulfilled. He goes swimming and even does a parachute jump to help raise money. But his focus remains on being as good a father as he can be to Rivers, as he whizzes the chuckling toddler through the house on his motorised chair. Steve also reflects on his relationship with Mike and how difficult it must be for him seeing his son suffer. Yet, while he means well, his evangelical approach to religion and his traditional notions of paternalism sometimes make hard for Steve to cope with him.

Unfortunately, a stem cell treatment advances the progression of the disease and Steve loses control of his bowels. Remarkably, Steve makes a crude joke when nurse Judy Robert comes to administer an enema. But, the more helpless he becomes, the harder Michel finds it to care for him and maintain her own spirits while seeing him decline. However, Steve is also close to despair, as he knows he is losing the power of speech and he records a vlog for Rivers in which he says he wants to punch something because he hates being a burden. But all he can do is scream.

A statue is unveiled depicting his charge down and old teammates rally to the `No White Flags' cause. However, Steve reveals in a vlog the next day that he had soiled himself within five minutes of getting home and the shock of going from hero to zero hit hard. But he is able to attend Rivers's first birthday party and he sits in his chair beside his son in his high chair, with his face gleefully covered in sticky cake icing.

Two years have now passed since the diagnosis and Rivers is learning to talk, just as Steve is mastering the eye recognition software that is now his sole means of communication. A montage shows how active he remains with his care team getting him to football games and rock concerts, as well as tackling everyday tasks. Moreover, it's clear that Rivers adores Steve. But he is aware how exhausting Michel is finding being on call 24/7 and she is touched when he compiles a message apologising for putting her in this situation.

Her father Paul is president of Team Gleason and he explains how funds were depleted when they responded to every request for communication software when Medicare changes meant many ALS patients could no longer afford them. So, they had to stage Gleason Gras 2013 to replenish the coffers. They also campaigned with the Secretary of State in Washington and teamed with Microsoft to do a commercial to raise the profile of the voiceboxes. But Michel worries he is spreading himself too thin and she admits to getting cross when people congratulate her on his courage when she knows there is nothing to celebrate.

In order to reinforce this, Tweel includes a tense argument in which Steve complains that Michel shows him little compassion and is always rushing to go somewhere else rather than spend time with him. She tries to apologise, but he accuses her of depriving him of his time with Rivers. They still share a room, but he is now in a special bed and needs a breathing tube during the night. He is fully entitled to feel low, but his focus on his own needs places a strain on Michel that he doesn't always seem to appreciate.

He is in finer fettle when he interviews Vedder for the release of the new Pearl Jam album, however, and makes the singer cry by asking about his relationship with the father he barely knew. When he is next seen in 2014, Steve is recording a message for Rivers about knowing when to recognise there is no point in trying to do more than your best. The family has moved to a bungalow to make it easier to move him around, but he has decided to play less of a public role in Team Gleason and devote himself to Michel and Rivers. This is music to her ears, as she says she is not cut out to be a saint and just wants to be normal.

But Steve starts having problems with his lungs and the doctors tell him he is likely to die within a matter of weeks unless he has surgery. Determined to live for Michel and Rivers, he opts for a tracheotomy to fit an artificial ventilator (although a caption notes that this is so expensive that 95% of patients reject it, despite it being able to extend life by several years). However, Paul notes that, while everyone wants Steve to live, he is aware that prolongation only adds to the pressure on Michel, who sits in the corner of countless hospital rooms trying to concentrate on her art, as an escape from the endless medical talk and her onerous responsibilities.

By 2015, he is looking better and is breathing more easily. He attends Rivers's fourth birthday party and gives a talk to his class using the old vlogs. In one, he explains how he is looking forward to the day that they have a difference of opinion, as it will mean he is learning to stand on his own two feet. Squaring the circle, he meets with Mike again and asks what has been the hardest part of the illness for him. He is surprised when Mike says he worries most about coping on the day he days, as he knows how relentless he is from his footballing days and, therefore, doesn't worry about his mental well-being. Mike is also reassured that Steve is sure his soul has been saved and tells him he is a much better dad than he was, as Rivers knows how loved he is.

As Michel vows to rediscover some of the happiness she has lost and wonders where she will go with her art, we see news clips of the passage of the Gleason Law that ensures ALS sufferers will have access to vocal assistance software. We see him attending a mass ice bucket challenge to raise funds. But, as the film ends, Tweel shows him being a father to Rivers in a montage accompanied by the message that the best thing anyone can do is to pass on tips for being a good person to their children.

Given that Steve Gleason is still beating the odds, this would make a poignant double bill with Jesse Vile's Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet (2012), which profiled a heavy metal guitarist who continues to make music in spite of his ALS. These films had happier endings than Emma Davie and Morag McKinnon's I Am Breathing (2013), which chronicled how Scottish architect Neil Platt and his wife Louise dealt with his Motor Neurone Disease. Steve and Neil have much in common in their determination to leave an audiovisual legacy for their sons. Yet, while Tweel structures the documentary around father-son relationships, one is left wanting to know more about how Michel is feeling about having had her idyllic life stolen from her by fate. As she can be pugnacious, she doesn't always come across sympathetically and too little is made of her sacrifice and courage. Nevertheless, this is a potent and unflinchingly honest snapshot of a family duking it out and all concerned (including co-editor Brian Palmer) deserve considerable credit for telling it like it is.