• Animator Jacob Ribicoff/Snag Films

It's a disrespectful, attention-getting approach that suits its cantankerous subject like one of his old sheepskin coats. According to an IMDb user who caught the film at a London screening, the "fractious Q&A...ended with shouting, swearing, recriminations all round, and Jay Bulger seemingly storming off stage."

Unfortunately, Bulger films himself as if he were part of the profile—no wonder Baker, who now lives in South Africa, smacked him in the face with his cane in the opening sequence. When you've got a larger-than-life subject at your disposal, get the fuck out of the way. Let him narrate, let his friends and enemies narrate, or drop the narration altogether (the better documentaries don't need it).

After that unsteady start, Bulger rights the ship by stepping aside and letting the 73-year-old musician tell the story in his own nicotine-stained drawl, starting with his childhood in war-torn Britain. The minute he heard Max Roach, he says, he found something "I could relate to." When he wasn't getting into brawls, he was tapping out rhythms on his desk until he found his way to a drum kit, and that was the beginning of that. Alongside the archival material, Bulger adds expressive, painterly animation to bring the past to life. It's a wise move, since the semi-abstract look of the art aligns with Baker's interest in jazz and African music.

By 20, he was a husband, a father, a heroin addict, and the percussive anchor in a series of increasingly popular bands, including Alexis Korner's Blues Incorporated and the Graham Bond Organization. At this point, other speakers enter the fray, like singer-bassist Jack Bruce and Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts. While Baker praises Bruce as a "fucking brilliant player"—until he switched from stand-up bass to bass guitar—he dismisses Mick Jagger as a "stupid little cunt."

• Stag Films
• From British brawler to South African smoker