The documentary Moonage Daydream by David Bowie says nothing new

but Moontime Daydream is the first film to be officially sanctioned by Bowie’s estate, fact looms over some glaring omissions. His first wife, Angela Bowie, is completely eliminated from the narrative, while his marriage to Iman gets its own chapter, complete with motion graphics of the couple dancing in silhouette to Word on a Wing. “My life suddenly turned pink,” Bowie says of their courtship in an archived interview clip. The film purports to shed light on Bowie’s “life and genius,” and if it focuses solely on his genius, excluding aspects of his personal life might work. But venerating one marriage while erasing another makes it seem like Morgen is peddling a minor form of Bowie propaganda and unwilling to present a flawed subject.

Morgen comes closest to portraying a blemish in Bowie’s career in a section devoted to it let’s Dance, his 1983 commercial juggernaut. As Bowie discusses his newfound desire to “work more obviously and positively,” Morgen shifts to amicable rounds of press and hordes of fans lining up to buy concert tickets. At one point, Morgen inserts early recordings of Ziggy Stardust singing “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide.” He then complements it with footage of ’80s stadium tours and clips from Bowie’s Pepsi commercial starring Tina Turner, which turned “Modern Love” into an awkward jingle for the soft drink. The director formally comments on the gross commercial excesses of the era, if not Bowie’s throwback to it. “Even though it was hugely successful, there was no growth at all,” Bowie later says offscreen, admitting that he limited himself to “what I thought people wanted.” It’s the film’s most honest moment; Hearing Bowie betray his artistic nature is disarming. (Knowing that this led to his most lucrative phase is a meta-comment on arts and commerce in its own right.) Tomorrow makes Bowie seem fallible for the first time –Person, even – and that makes it all the more fascinating.

Bowie’s concert recordings are by far the best part of it Moontime Daydream, and Morgen serves the viewer if they just let it play. The film centers on a rousing performance of “Heroes” live in London’s Brixton, where Bowie was born. The weight of this song, with its searchlight guitar riff and Bowie’s dazzling charisma, is so intoxicating that one wonders: Why not more clips like this? Or, more clearly, why dilute their potency with quick cuts to preserve historical footage and garish animation? The dotted motion graphics throughout are morning’s greatest sin. As we are ushered in Bowie’s Berlin era, “Sound and Vision” blares out of the speakers. Morning cinematic contribution? Animated blobs of color that burst to the beat. The director also inserts scenes from The Matrix to complement Bowie Outside and earthling Epochs and inserts images of his artistic heroes (John Coltrane, Oscar Wilde) as he discusses them in voiceover. Morning Muse is one of the most visually compelling, compelling characters of the last century. The urge to beautify it with fewer graphics is confusing.

If there is a through line Moontime Daydream it is Bowie’s unwavering zeal for existence. Shots of him taking pictures, smearing charcoal on a giant screen and wandering through rural Asia are accented with reflections on his life. “I hate wasting days,” he says at one point. Tomorrow begins and ends the film with works by Bowie Dark Star era, and while it’s decked out in CGI renderings of the moon, it’s hard not to get a little carried away by the effect. “All people, no matter who they are, wish they had appreciated life more,” says Bowie, seemingly broadcasting from the cosmos. Whether we are to see him as a human or an extraterrestrial deity is unclear, but few figures have roamed the earth so resplendently.