There Are No Innocent Bystanders Documentary Analysis

There are many reasons that people watch documentaries— the primary reason, though, is to educate themselves on a topic. Documentaries can also give an audience insight into a topic that they would not have been able to get otherwise. For example, they can learn about a specific person’s perspective on an event through documentary interviews. There Are No Innocent Bystanders follows the story of the Libertines, from their humble beginnings through their rise to fame and ultimate collapse in 2004, all while documenting their preparations for Reading Festival in 2010— their first gig together in six years. Through interviews, rehearsal footage and archival photos, director Roger Sargent pieces together the story of one of the UK’s most iconic, and controversial, bands.

There is a very clear target audience for There Are No Innocent Bystanders: it is clearly aimed at fans of The Libertines. However, people who were around and paying attention to the British music scene in the early ‘00s may also enjoy the documentary. While the film gives us plenty of information, it does also rely on us already being aware of The Libertines and its mythology in order to do so; most of the building blocks needed to fully understand the film are not provided throughout its 87-minute duration as it is expected that we are already knowledgeable of the band. While this does allow for more time to be spent on more deeper-than-surface-level stuff, it leaves the documentary less accessible to audiences who maybe don’t know as much. We don’t get given anyone’s names until they get brought up in conversation, so if a viewer goes into this not really knowing who Peter Doherty or Carl Barât are— good luck trying to figure it out fast enough to keep up.

There Are No Innocent Bystanders manages to fit a few of the typical codes and conventions we see in documentaries. The film contains plenty of interviews with the band (these form the base on which the documentary is built on). This is a very typical documentary convention— without interviews, most documentaries would have very little content. Specifically in this documentary, the interviews allow for The Libertines to tell their own story. When some of the individuals spoken to had spent so many years not in control of the narrative around themselves, it felt all the more crucial that There Are No Innocent Bystanders allowed for them to speak their truth (or, as close to the truth as they’ll let us hear).

Like other documentaries, there is good use of archival photos. Director Roger Sargent was a photographer who managed to capture some of The Libertines’ most iconic moments before their split in 2004, and these photos add an extra bit of personality to the documentary. For those watching who weren’t around to see their chaotic early days, the photos allow a glimpse into those moments that simply can’t be explained with only words. It, as with other documentaries, is also used as a way to give the audience something to look at other than interview footage. While it would have been nice if some archival footage was also used alongside the photos, it doesn’t feel like such a loss that it takes away from the documentary as a whole.

As far as documentaries go, There Are No Innocent Bystanders skews very much more subjective than objective. While there is nothing to really suggest that anything discussed in the film didn’t happen (as much as Barât and Doherty have tended to bend the truth in interviews, there appears to be a bit less of that here— leaving things out, yes, but not necessarily lying), due to its heavily reliance on interviews any recollections of events may not be as close to the truth as they could be. It also means that there is plenty of room for details to be missed out, and even for whole conversations to be skirted around. The topic of drugs, while integral to The Libertines’ story, is approached tentatively by everyone and is left relatively close to surface-level considering how deep they could have gone. In situations like this, where the interviewees do not seem interested in giving detailed answers (or answers at all, really), a narrator may have been useful— or, at least someone outside of the band itself— to help fill in some of the gaps left by Barât or Doherty. At the same time, this was clearly a very difficult conversation for either of them to be having in front of a camera (it’s likely that this hadn’t really been spoken about privately, so any on-camera mentions were almost always destined to leave a lot to be desired), so maybe it was best left as it was and not forced to be more open and honest that they were willing. However, there are times when this subjectivity works in the documentary’s favour. It allows the audience to gain a more personal insight into the dynamics in the band, particularly the relationship between Peter and Carl. The less-than-clinical approach that There Are No Innocent Bystanders takes allows them to talk more freely about each other, with interesting results. While there’s always an underlying tension, and even bitterness sometimes, there are still moments that remind the audience of why they reunited for Reading Festival in 2010; when Barât tells us that he doesn’t think he’ll ever find another songwriting partner “as special as Peter”, it is said with a sincerity that explains exactly how they ended up together again, even if it wasn’t known how permanent that would be at the time. However, the cautiousness that any ideas for the future of the band are approached serves as a permanent reminder of the rift between the two frontmen that clearly had not quite been fixed.

It would be unfair to analyse a music documentary and not mention its use of music. Throughout the course of the documentary itself, any music we hear is audio from band rehearsals or from their performance at Reading Festival. This gives us a different feel than if we heard the studio recordings of the songs— hearing and seeing the songs played at Reading after that many years apart almost feels electric. However, for me, the most interesting use of music comes in the credits. The documentary itself ends with a tentative discussion of the band’s future (or potential lack thereof— obviously looking back now, we know there was plenty more to come, but at the time not even the band knew what was going to happen), and it almost feels like we’re finishing on a sort of low note, with Peter and Carl pointing fingers at each other about who’s responsible for where they go next. But when the credits roll, we hear an instrumental version of You’re My Waterloo, a song suspected to be have been written by Doherty about Barât in the early days of The Libertines. While the song would not officially be released until 2015 on their third album, Anthems for Doomed Youth, it would be played live countless times over the years, so fans would be very familiar with the song and its alleged meaning. Taking this into account, the ending of the documentary changes in tone quite a bit. Even though we remain unclear about any future happenings, You’re My Waterloo serves as a reminder of the closeness of their relationship, which director Roger Sargent once described as being like “first love, and all the jealousy and obsessiveness that comes with that.”

Overall, There Are No Innocent Bystanders is a rather comprehensive look at The Libertines over the years, as well as explaining just how they got to the stage at Reading Festival in 2010. While it could have benefited from maintaining a bit more objectivity, the fact that it allows for the band to speak for themselves feels significant enough to allow for some subjectivity. After all, it’s not every day a figure as divisive as Peter Doherty gets to be his own storyteller. If you’re looking for an objective analysis of The Libertines’ story culminating in their 2010 Reading Festival set, this is not the documentary for you. However, for those viewers after an introspective look at the band, this is well worth the watch.