This respectful but (to its credit) not entirely reverential documentary profiles Paul Di’Anno (born Paul Andrews in 1958), the lead singer of heavy metal act Iron Maiden between 1978 and 1981. Fans of the band, and rock historians, will know that, while there are plenty of admirers of Di’Anno’s work in concert and on the first two Iron Maiden albums, the group went supersonic only after they parted ways with him. Their breakthrough album, The Number of the Beast, had Bruce Dickinson on lead vocals, so that sort of makes Di’Anno the Stuart Sutcliffe or Pete Best of Maiden lore, although the group have cycled through so many musicians and collaborators over the years comparison with the Beatles doesn’t map neatly.

Either way, archive footage of the once studly looking Di’Anno in his prime, belting his heart out with a pleasingly gravelly voice that shaded more towards punk than classic metal crooning, is entertaining, even for total Maiden newbies. Nevertheless, you can see why he didn’t go all the way because, as viewers get to know him through the original footage shot for this film, it becomes clear that Di’Anno could often be an obstreperous, difficult-to-love character.

Director Wes Orshoski doggedly follows him around during a dark time in his life – before, during and after the Covid-19 pandemic – when Di’Anno’s health had declined badly, including a dislocated knee that made it impossible for him to walk. We hear a lot of grumbling from him about the NHS which seemingly couldn’t schedule surgery for him until his health improved in other ways. Then Croatian superfan Stjepan Juras and his friends crowdfund enough money to bring Di’Anno to Zagreb where treatment is much cheaper than the equivalent private work in the UK. Their efforts to help their hero seem even more saintly when his bad temper and general narcissistic tendencies see him chewing them out for booking the wrong kind of taxi transport and generally being a pain in the arse.

More importantly, while the surgeries happen and Di’Anno’s career gets a bit of a revival in Croatia, he doesn’t stick with the rehabilitation and exercise programme and slides back into depression and ill-health, chuffing on cigarettes while bitching and moaning all the time. It’s one of those films where the focal point is so dislikable one longs for the camera to wander away and follow anyone else for a while: Juras for instance, or the Croatian nurse who gets engaged to Di’Anno at one point and then disappears from the story. If only the doc had pivoted to profile the Norwegian rockers who comprise Di’Anno’s backup band in Croatia, a gaggle of middle-aged men who look like guys who normally do something in IT or teach physics. By the end, any of the above would have been preferable to the mostly ungrateful, self-pitying central figure.