The premiere of Julian Temple's Glastonbury film, which is as disorientating, magical and manic as the festival itself, took place at the Prince Charles Theatre in Leicester Square last night (it's on general release from 14 April).
Michael Eavis, looking snappy in a tweed suit, recounted that the genesis for the film was 2002's struggle with the licensing authorities that threatened to finish off Glasto for good. (The magistrate, recalls Eavis, told him: 'I've known you since you were a small boy. You've got to behave yourself now.')
As well as shooting his own footage, Temple - who directed the Sex Pistols' The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle - trawled through more than 900 hours worth of film sent in by festival revellers.
The final result is a masterly juxtaposition of images from its 30-odd year history; from the peace'n'love beginnings to its present incarnation as the daddy of the festival circuit complete with (nearly) impregnable fortification, corporate hospitality and CCTV.
Musical highlights include 1995's triumphant last-minute headliners Pulp, desert bluesmen Tinariwen, a belligerent Joe Strummer and a joyously prancing Bjork.
Temple, who sported circles of Worthy farm mud on his knees after a visit to Pilton the previous day, revealed that he wanted the film to join the celebrated line of cinematic classics that prompted Sound of Music-style participation. An aspiration, judging by the laughter, applause, whoops and hollers from the audience, that can't fail to materialise.
Curiously, as we left the cinema an eager group of punters were clasping autograph books and pristine 12-inch album covers, anxiously awaiting the appearance of a Glastonbury musical legend. Their target? Not David Bowie, New Order or Oasis. Rather, it was Aussie wobble board inventor Rolf Harris.
