Alex Cox’s Sid and Nancy (1986) is less a biopic of Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious and his lover Nancy Spungen than a raw, unflinching elegy for two souls consumed by love and chaos. The film’s power lies in its refusal to romanticize their tragedy, instead plunging viewers into the gritty, anarchic pulse of punk’s underbelly. Cox’s direction is a masterstroke of controlled chaos, balancing frenetic energy with moments of haunting stillness. He doesn’t sanitize the squalor of Sid and Nancy’s world London’s grimy squats and New York’s Chelsea Hotel are characters in themselves, their decay mirroring the couple’s unraveling. The screenplay, co-written by Cox and Abbe Wool, avoids hagiography, presenting Sid and Nancy as neither heroes nor victims but as flawed, desperate humans caught in a spiral of addiction and devotion. This narrative restraint elevates the film beyond mere punk nostalgia, grounding it in universal themes of love’s destructive potential.

Gary Oldman’s portrayal of Sid Vicious is a revelation, capturing the bassist’s boyish vulnerability and volatile edge with a physicality that feels almost possessed. His scenes with Chloe Webb’s Nancy are electric, their chemistry a volatile mix of tenderness and toxicity. Webb’s performance, though occasionally teetering on caricature, nails Nancy’s desperate neediness, making her more than the “groupie” stereotype. Yet, the film falters in its pacing, particularly in the second half, where the repetitive cycle of drug-fueled despair drags, sapping some emotional momentum. The cinematography by Roger Deakins is a standout, with its muted palette and claustrophobic framing amplifying the sense of entrapment. Deakins’ lens lingers on fleeting moments of beauty like Sid and Nancy kissing in an alley as trash rains down transforming the mundane into the mythic. The soundtrack, pulsing with punk anthems and Joe Strummer’s melancholic score, is both a time capsule and a heartbeat, driving the film’s emotional core.

Sid and Nancy doesn’t judge its subjects; it mourns them. Cox’s boldest choice is to let their story breathe without tidy resolutions, leaving viewers to grapple with the wreckage. The film’s refusal to glorify or condemn makes it a poignant meditation on love’s capacity to both save and destroy, set against the raw defiance of punk’s fleeting revolution.