Highly remarkable documentary chronicles PJ Harvey's visits to Kabul, Kosovo and Washington D. C. and how the encounters and impressions directly inspired the songs of her album The Hope Six Demolition Project and includes the startling public recording sessions of the album; although it's complex project, we do get a clear view into the creative process for this album.

More than a simple behind the scenes look at PJ Harvey's 'The Hope Six Demolition Project' album... at least that's the idea. This documentary looks deep into the inspiration behind the music and lyrics. As Polly and director Seamus Murphy travel around the world. I'll be honest, that's not of much interest for me. What is though is how The Hope Six Demolition Project was recorded, in a goldfish bowl in Somerset House. The public invited to watch the process through one way glass. I recall reading about this at the time and thinking I'd like to go see and hear that. I couldn't be bothered going down to london though. Now we have this doc and it probably gives a much broader view than I'd have got with a single hour or however long I'd have stood there for... again that's the idea. Now not to say that the travels depicted here aren't important. They give it context and set it apart from pure process and it's notable that lyrically in particular there's a lot of influence and there's some themes that are outright lifted directly from sounds, songs and prayers they hear. The stuff shot on the road does feel superfluous though. I'm a PJ Harvey fan, I've seen these songs performed live. Polly is a stunning performer, as are her band. This though feels far too carefully choreographed. Murphy captures some great shots. Of their travels, of Polly, of the studio, all accompanied by Polly's rather dry narration. It's awkward and sterile. It's still interesting, I just wish I'd felt that we'd been let in a little bit more. Surely that was the purpose. So we get a mix of Kosovo, DC, Syria and Somerset House both sides of glass. The songs are good, not Harvey's best, for that I'd go with Rid of Me, Dry, Let England Shake. But it did make me listen to the album again and stuff like River Anacostia and The Ministry of Defence are superb. It's enjoyable to watch the band perform and to watch raw takes. As a documentary though it doesn't really work. It's just a string of random clips with little to no structure or reason. Worse than that it feels like it's taking advantage, using the poverty of others for arts sake. Maybe I'm being harsh, but I don't think so. It takes nothing away from the music and I'm no less a fan having watched this. You could argue where do ideas come from after all, it's all influence and reimagining, one thing sparks another. Perhaps Polly should keep this sort of thing to herself though. She's cultured a career by being slightly aloof, I think that works better. As for Murphy, I feel he's done the best with his hands tied.

I'll start by saying I've been a PJ Harvey fan since the beginning, and I saw her on tour for the album this film documents. I really enjoyed seeing more of who she is, her image has always been a bit impenetrable, remote, curated. But I'm wrestling with this film. First, for the first time I really noticed that PJ exclusively surrounds herself with (mostly adoring, it seems) men as her collaborators. Not one woman in the film, except for those in burkas or in the margins of her "grief safari" as another reviewer put it, or those who paid to gaze upon her as she invited spectators in a one-way windowed studio to watch her adoringly. I admired what she was trying to do, but it really looked like she was putting herself in the frame with a lot of marginalized, poor people, then recreating their melodies and rhythms back in her warm, immaculate, white studio with invited spectators to watch. It was... odd. Troubling, even. One detail amused me: in the credits, near the end, there's a space left before and after the designer of PJ's wardrobe, a credit given great privilege. That's when it occurred to me: She had her hair and make-up done in every shot -- in Kosovo, in Afghanistan, in the poor neighborhoods of DC. She brought these gorgeous, witchy designer outfits from (I learned, thanks to the credit) a Belgian couture designer. Every shot of these poor communities pans across something, yes, fascinating to watch, but then there's Polly, perched in her outfit, gazing on and also there to be gazed upon, witnessed, admired by us. What are we to make of this? It certainly smacks of exploitation. At the same time, I've always admired PJ as an artist, so shouldn't I give her credit for connecting with so many people and creating something out of her impressions of these overlooked or oppressed people and the beautiful art they make? Well, when Paul Simon collaborated with Ladysmith Black Mambazo, he was later rightly called out for exploitation and appropriation. Is this different? Perhaps only in that the Afghani men keening in their worship were probably neither credited nor compensated for the melody she specifically recreated in her recording. She came off looking like her own very special, arty brand of diva, with troublingly British aspects of artistic colonization. At the same time, I know she was trying to do something ambitious and risky. She sure looked great doing it.