“Life is an adventure of our own design…a series of lucky and unlucky accidents.”

Patti Smith, the androgynous godmother of punk, the patron saint of the radical poets’ society, an immortal legend of both the written and spoken word, is the lyrical filter through which director Steven Sebring spent twelve or so years attempting to illuminate the sheer mesmerism of the soul underneath the enigmatic public persona. The result is “Patti Smith: Dream of Life,” a subjective ode embroiled by innumerable layers of indulgent discovery told by Patti herself, reflecting on the truths of the human condition and the very contradictions that ignite her flame of individualism. Besides the epical nature of her music, we have never been given the opportunity to feel so close to the rock icon in the cinematic form, even though such a term causes Patti to think about Mount Rushmore rather than herself.

Complex yet accessible, abstractedly profound but conscious, “Dream of Life” shatters the confinement of uninteresting convention to the point where mere description fails to suffice. It’s an amorous experience more than it is a documentary, a poem more than it is a series of archival facts, and the intimacy that binds the notions of unexplored components of who Patti really is makes the film worth not only watching, but a must-see. There is a pulsation of heart racing urgency that gives the film its hazy magnetism.

Sebring wastes no time in getting to the heart and soul of his subject. Patti makes it her objective to get her life story out of the way within the first few minutes of the film beginning and is therefore able to narrate her own story, on her own terms, in her monotonous tone of voice without focusing too much on the facts. After all, life is what happens in between. For a portrait that contains no coherent narrative structure and none of the usual interviews where individuals assert their opinions in a doctrinaire manner, it works surprisingly well on a more surrealistic plane.

We follow her day to day life rooted in her unkempt apartment cluttered by nostalgic memorabilia vital for her functioning, as she makes her radical appearances onstage at concerts and rallies and as she talks to or about legendary figures whom have affected her life in some way or another, such as Allen Ginsberg, Philip Glass, Robert Mapplethorpe, Sam Shepard and Bob Dylan to name but a few. A series of days, months and years in the life of Patti Smith feels like a transcendental sanctification of the mark she has forged on the outskirts of human existence. The film does not follow a set chronological order, but instead weaves in and out of different geographical and time settings. In a more conventional exercise, this would have caused a sense of awkward disconnect, but that is far from the case here.

We see the fiery individual foam at the mouth when delivering political indictments, and the next second that anger is juxtaposed with a beguiling serenity as Patti recites her poetry over shots of vast expanses of scenery. The sheer indulgence of the documentary’s scope, one that paints Patti as a force the defies critical examination, might seem one-sided and pretentious but if one considers who made the film, (Sebring and others who obviously worship the ground she swaggers on, as well as Patti’s involvement in editorial decisions) the resultant product’s predisposition is not surprising. It’s a labour of love, not a critical examination.

Filmed in grainy hues on 16 mm film, the thought of having to mentally separate the archival footage from the scenes actually filmed by Sebring and Phillip Hunt is a daunting one, but in actual fact it lifts the perpetual quality of the film to the point where it can be appreciated for years to come with little prospect of ever seeming dated. The home video stylistics are not as potent as Patti’s vocabulary but provides the perfect platform for her to share her anecdotes. It is as if the camera is a mere tool that perfectly encapsulates the rough, organic mood of Patti and the momentary responsiveness of this particular type of filming allows for every moment captured to become all the more dreamlike. This is not a performance film in slightest, Patti’s onstage metamorphosis into something resembling a frighteningly self-assured carnal being is merely one facet in the patchwork of meditative reminiscences on Patti’s behalf. We are introduced to most of these facets in some capacity.

Hardly revelatory, by the time the prosaic trip comes to an end, all we are left with are a succession of melodically linked declarations that form part of an awe-inspiring journey into the cerebral testimony of the significance of Patti Smith not only in today’s society but also in those past or even those in the future. “Dream of Life” may be guilty of a rather subjective point of view, contrivance and self-indulgence, but the raw power and emotional impact it radiates with every frame is almost guaranteed to leave a searing impression on the viewer’s mind. The congruent flurry of ideas and imagery push the limits of cinematic documentation so far that the sheer defiance of the film is irresistible. “Patti Smith: Dream of Life” is easily one of the finest documentaries I have seen in years; a near-perfect blend of free flowing opinion and indignation artistically balanced with the mesmerising penetration of the soul that I cannot get out of my head, not that I am trying.

Fatac Rating: ****½

Patti Smith: Dream of Life. Written and Directed by Steven Sebring. Cinematography by Steven Sebring and Phillip Hunt. Editing by: Angelo Corrao and Lin Polito. Featuring: Patti Smith, Lenny Kaye, Oliver Ray, Tony Shanahan, Jay Dee Daughterty, Jackson Smith, Jesse Smith, and Tom Verlaine. Running Time: 109 minutes. Age Restriction: Not Rated. Year: 2008. Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars [A]