At first rather annoying in its heavy emphasis on reenactments, this movie ultimately proves fascinating, simply because the complicated, highly dramatic tale it tells still almost defies belief.

Not sure how, but this is easily one of the best movies all summer. Multiple levels of funny, never takes itself seriously, super colorful, and creative.

Let me be very fair here, this is not the best movie in my opinion. But, this movie is fun, it has purpose and is very enjoyable to watch.

This film is so real. It treats its characters with so much care and sensitivity.

Director Alan G. Parker, a self-titled Sid Vicious biographer, put together this overlong, scattered pseudo-documentary about '70s British punker and ex-Sex Pistols bassist Vicious and his American girlfriend, groupie Nancy Spungen, who was found dead in 1978 in the New York City hotel room the couple shared, stabbed once with a knife after a long binge of partying and drugs. Although it's her name in the movie's title, Parker hasn't much information on Nancy Spungen--no surprise then that the primary focus here is on Vicious (which probably also aided Parker in getting financing). We do get a shot of Spungen's nice childhood house in Pennsylvania (which Parker then compares to Sid's humble beginnings) and rare interview footage of Sid and Nancy together before the stabbing and Sid's eventual heroin overdose. The rest doesn't amount to much: Sid's arrest, his release on bail of $50,000, evidence at the murder scene unexplored by the police (which Parker obviously feels vindicates Sid), and dead-end interviews with friends and hangers-on who feed on the long-held conspiracy theory that Nancy was murdered by an outsider over a drug-deal gone bad. Newspaper headlines and vintage TV news clips do not a documentary make, yet somehow Parker has managed to stretch this thing out to an interminable 100 minutes (an abbreviated version runs 89 minutes). *1/2 from ****

"Just another dead junkie" - the laconic verdict of the New York police, who seemed not too interested in six lots of fingerprints around the walls, all of them belonging to known felons, and who simply charged Sid Vicious with the drug-fuelled murder of his girlfriend Nancy Spungen.To the weird cast of interviewees who drive this sordid narrative, that is a vile slur on the sensitive and caring Sid of their increasingly dim and distorted memories. But if you die at 21, you soon morph into some kind of martyr-legend, so we are supposed to keep a straight face while the two of them are seriously compared to Romeo and Juliet. Near the beginning, a voice-over laments "Underneath that exterior, there was a really nice guy." Further in, we catch an example of this niceness, when he tortures and strangles a cat, which then has the impudence to release bodily fluids in its death-throes.Sid's own death is given a lot too much prominence, considering that it is technically off-topic, having occurred a few months after Nancy's, and this is a sign of the shapeless direction of the film. It is mainly an impressionist picture of the Sid and Nancy story, showing that she was effectively murdered not by a person but by a particular culture, where the decencies are ridiculed, crime and debauchery glamorised, and all limits and restraints shoved aside. Significantly, the film is often padded-out with blurred images of slow-moving shadow-figures of uncertain gender, just drifting about in some limbo.That is at least symbolic of the chaotic last months of their life together, holed-up in Manhattan's Chelsea Hotel, following the break-up of the Sex Pistols. The Chelsea, as presented, takes bohemianism to giddy heights - dealers everywhere, little groups meeting on the stairs, total strangers wandering in and out of rooms.It may sound like a schoolboy's dream, this life of non-stop hedonism, but nobody could have called Sid and Nancy a happy couple. If the film reveals anything, it is just how well-earned was the label 'Nauseating Nancy'. Superficially, you could start to find her vaguely attractive in the pop-eyed Molly Parkin style, but a closer look reveals a terrifying madness. Women loathed her piercing voice, and just wanted to get away. And although she claimed she would make a good manager for Sid, that was not too likely, considering her habit of dropping banknotes all over the reception area without noticing. Indeed, some say it was a particular pile of banknotes, found missing from their room, that pointed to the killer, supposedly a mysterious gay dealer who thought he'd been swindled.But any attempt to explain it in terms of likelihood or logic is doomed, against the general background of narcotic blundering about that clearly left Nancy bleeding to death, slumped awkwardly on that bathroom floor. 'Who Cares Who Killed Nancy?' might have been a better title. The cops knew what they were talking about when they said they had better things to do.

This is not as much of a who-did-it as it is a profile of Sid and Nancy. If you take it as that, its very good. I've seen several films that detail their lives, but this one is the best. Clocking at about 100 minutes, this film has an excellent soundtrack that will take you back to the time of Sid Vicious and the Sex Pistols.After viewing this documentary, you may not know who killed Nancy but you will feel this need to take a shower after being exposed to a lot of seedy people who knew Sid and Nancy at the time of their deaths.If you are interested in Punk Rock or just looking to pass a couple hours, you'll be pleased with "Who Killed Nancy?"

Fairly amateurish documentary not just about who killed Nancy Spungen, but who killed Simon John Richie aka Sid Vicious. Did Sid kill himself with an accidental, yet inevitable OD, or was he given a "Hot Shot". Perhaps it was his Bohemian mother Ann Richie who gave her son too much drugs and later committed suicide out of guilt. ...and what about Nancy ? upper middle class Jewish girl turned obnoxious groupie, nobody liked her... was she killed by any one of six people who's fingerprints were left around the room in the dark and foreboding Chelsea Hotel on 23rd Street in NYC. Sid was unconscious on the bed drugged once again into never-never land, the knife wiped clean. Did the mysterious homosexual drug dealer known as Michael kill her for the money thought missing from the room, proceeds from concerts and royalties from Sid's rendition of "My Way" all paid in cash, or finally did Nancy just do herself in because everyone knew she had a death wish and had cut herself before. Lots of questions and no answers.The players here have brains that are, well to put kindly beyond repair. Years of drug abuse have left them lethargic and incapable of even standing up on their own without leaning on something. As they scratch their heads and reach deep inside their foggy memories you almost wonder if you will hear one say "Sid's dead ?". I couldn't help but think that the film maker was interviewing zombies. One bloke tells the story of how Sid made a noose and hung a cat in his flat "I guess I regret that...He hung the cat and it was jumping about and it urinated and defecated all over his shoes. I guess I regret not stopping him. We put it in a plastic bag and took it down to the trash.", I mean could you have taken any more drugs then you have pal ?Some of the healthier survivors have some pretty good observations about what was going on during those early days of Punk both in New York City and London, but too much of it is lost in horrendous film making and poor editing. If you have the time, and you can see it for free and if you care about Sid and Nancy or even the Heartbreakers you should probably take a chance and see this film. I, myself, don't really give a crap about Sid and Nancy, it's thirty years on now and he has become more of an icon than a reality. I guess since I saw it for free I felt I should see it through to the bitter end. I did walk away, however, with a little more empathy for Sid though...he was doomed from the start.