Dr Feelgood's story hits the big screen

This is no mere rockumentary. Instead, Temple has created a cinematic collage that employs Canvey Island's devastating 1953 floods as a starting point. Temple describes his film as "Essex noir", offering a secret history of British rock. Countless edits from old gangster movies and innumerable talking heads threaten to overwhelm its momentum; yet when the music bites, the film is as inspired and raucous as the Feelgoods at their peak. What really makes Oil City resonate is Johnson's garrulous, big-hearted presence. Indeed, his is the most engaging British screen appearance of recent years, and Temple weaves a maverick mythology about both Essex and the band.

When I meet the director and the guitarist in Soho, they neatly counterbalance one another: Johnson is tall and bald, speaking estuary English; Temple is impish, styled and posh enough to get away with addressing everyone as "darling". I suggest that they could be Little and Large recast as thuggish rocker and fey director: "He's from Essex, I'm from Wessex," Temple replies.

"I'd seen the Feelgoods in the 1970s and they had made a big impact," he says, explaining why he considers Oil City both a prequel and the final part of his rock-doc series. "They existed in a fascinating moment just before punk. Everything had run out of steam - only Dr Feelgood and Ian Dury's Kilburn & the High Roads offered anything fresh. Audiences were a little bit scared, a bit shocked, by them. They were called 'pub rock', but that was largely country-rock noodling.These guys came on like they'd just robbed a bank."

Johnson chuckles and, indeed, looks as if he could have pursued a career in armed robbery. How did the Feelgoods develop such a raw, aggressive sound?

"We started out as a 1950s-style rock'n'roll band, and used to get gigs backing Heinz, the singer Joe Meek produced," Johnson says. "In 1972, we backed him at Wembley. The MC5 were also booked. I'd never seen a band play with such aggression and force. The teddy boys hated 'em, pelted 'em with beer cans. It was a life-changing experience, and Dr Feelgood found their sound after that."

Temple notes that both the Pistols and the Clash were MC5 fans; Johnson agrees, saying that he got on well with the original punk bands, feeling they were kindred spirits. "The Feelgoods distilled music and lyrics to the very basics," Temple says, "stripped away everything until they were working from a classic R&B template. Joe Strummer saw them and went off and formed a band. They created the blueprint for what was about to explode out of the UK. Same in New York - they were all listening to Dr Feelgood albums."

"We'd been playing Canvey Island for years," Johnson says. "We were completely unknown. Then we found we could get gigs in London, and as soon as we started to play here, we were surprising people. The way we looked and sounded - nobody else was like us at the time."

"What I found impressive is that they all grew up a few streets from one another," Temple says. "Literal neighbours. And Canvey Island is fascinating. Oil City is a psycho­geography of Essex - well, one part of it. Essex is so regularly denigrated in the UK that it's easy for people who don't live there to just make fun of it."

Johnson, who still lives in Canvey Island, was initially reluctant to appear in Oil City Confidential. "When I was first rung about the film, I said, 'I don't see it.' I mean, the Feelgoods were a long time ago. But I met Julien and got to see that his vision was about more than the band. So I went along with it. When I attended the preview, well, the film knocked me out. I was sitting next to my son, and I felt so proud. I was digging him in the ribs - 'Get a load of that, son.' He's 24, so the whole Feel­goods thing is unknown to him. And the film's not just about the band - the way it evokes Canvey Island, that's definitive."

Johnson admits that viewing Oil City Confidential was, at times, unsettling. There is a long interview with Brilleaux (who died in 1994), and the behaviour that resulted in Johnson being fired - amphetamines, marijuana and a mistress - is openly discussed. "Since that time, I've put Dr Feelgood behind me," he says, carefully choosing his words. "Seeing the film, I've had to - confront it. There was this... antagonism... and I tell you, I don't know what it was about. I know that in our final year, we couldn't stand one another. A real antipathy. Lemmy puts it down to me being a speed freak and them being boozers, and there's some truth in that, but with Lee, his dislike of me became intense. He never did me wrong. And I never did him any wrong, to my knowledge. It's sad - seeing that footage and knowing it's all going to fall apart."

How, I wondered, did Johnson feel about his rapid descent from chart-topping NME cover star to the pub circuit that is his mainstay today? "When you first get famous, you walk into a bar and everyone goes quiet. They're all looking at you - pointing at you - and it's an amazing sensation. It would have been nice to make a few million, but after the Feelgoods I made a lot of wrong moves. But I do believe if I'd achieved megastardom, I'd not be here today. I'd be long gone."

Temple adds: "I think it's a more interesting film than one about a band who had huge success. It's more human. Wilko's a lost national treasure. I hope this brings him the attention he deserves."

Johnson continues to lead a formidable live outfit, his shredding guitar sparring against the brilliant bass patterns of a fellow former Blockhead, Norman Watt-Roy. That his audience at a recent performance consisted almost entirely of men close to his own age (62) reflects how far from the public eye Johnson has drifted. "What I did with the Feelgoods deserves some recognition," he says firmly. "British rock had really got up its own arse when we came through. Us and Ian's bands, we got things going again."

Appropriate, then, that Oil City Confidential follows the Ian Dury biopic Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll onto British screens by only a matter of weeks. "That is a co­incidence," Temple says. "Hopefully, the films complement one another, tell of these indiv­idual musicians who made such an impact on British music."

"Ian went too soon," Johnson says. "Like Lee. Cancer." He shakes his big bald head and looks doleful. "I joined the Blockheads after Chas Jankel quit, and we toured and made the album Laughter. Not Ian's greatest record, but I'm proud to say that I was a Blockhead. I've played with Norman [Watt-Roy] ever since, and he's a magnificent musician."

Paradoxically, a version of Dr Feelgood featuring no founding members still exists. Neither Johnson nor Temple is happy about this. "While Lee was alive, it was fine, but since his passing... it's a tribute band," Johnson says. "The music they play is not even the same as what we did." He shakes his head again, this time with a gravitas that suggests the current Dr Feelgood would be wise not to cross paths with the towering guitarist.

To prove how Dr Feelgood did and should sound, Oil City Confidential's UK launch will be held at the London music venue Koko. After the screening, Johnson's band will take the stage and the sound that exploded out of Essex will live again. It will also be broadcast by satellite to several other UK venues. Finally, it seems, Dr Feelgood are getting their due. "Canvey's still weird," Johnson says, "and I'm still me. Seeing it all up there on screen - it's very moving."

Oil City Confidential is out on February 5; oilcityconfidential.co.uk