It might negate the spirit of hedonism that pervades Michael Winterbottom’s 24 Hour Party People if I didn’t write this review somewhat inebriated (I'm not as young a boy as I once was, so I'm afraid this is powered on cheap vodka rather than any delicious psychedelics), so here we go. Various forms of gleeful substance abuse float through this account of the storied history of Manchester’s Factory Records. What we see, while having more than its fair share of fun, does not shy away from the side effects of death, decay, and depression.

But don’t let me mislead you, this is one of the funniest films I’ve ever seen. It is subliminally funny in the way of other entities which are thoroughly, brilliantly scripted (in this case by British visionary Frank Boyce), but are performed and realized as a way to seem lived or improvised. There are countless comments here that seem thrown off or made up but later register as clever, profound, or perfectly telling about the character. I know the writers of TV’s “Arrested Development” must have been banging their head against a wall every time the performers were praised for their “improvisations” of elaborately conceived visual and verbal puns and running gags.

24 Hour Party People does share some freewheeling spirit and verbal acuity with that show, but it is attempting something different. Most importantly, the film, rather than depicting an array of absurd fictional characters, depicts an array of real characters, many very peculiar, who happened to make and live through a series of absurd cultural events. The actual story here is both epic and intimate. On one hand, the events that transpired in Manchester are only remembered and canonized by music geeks, but on the other hand, we see how superficially diverse movements and events transpired in Manchester over time with some wacky characters to create the birth of rave culture.

It perhaps helps, amongst this madness, that we have a somewhat sober guide through this maelstrom. Steve Coogan plays the real Tony Wilson, who comes off as a younger, more perceptive, intelligent and successful version of Coogan’s immortal television character, the hubristic chat monger Alan Partridge. Wilson provides a guide and anchor for this enterprise, but by no means is the point or the star. He directly explains that to the camera at a point, stating, “I’m a minor character in my own life story.”

The star, of course, is Manchester. This is perhaps the only narrative film that has successfully focused on the story of a city, its movements and scenes, and its impact. Within Manchester, Winterbottom finds a slacker Shakespearean saga, consisting of cataclysmic pop music that you may have forgotten or never heard until you see this film.

Robby Müller does a fine job as lensman. Like the dialogue, it is deceptively crafted to look thrown together. It has become an indie cliché to sloppily shoot a film and mistake amateurism for truth. This is a reminder of how handheld should be done, where each camera move reveals something, visually or psychically. The look of the film subtly shifts just as time does, unleashing some psychedelic gems along the way.

On the whole, 24 Hour Party People works that way. It entertains, amuses, and intrigues throughout its duration, but is so unassuming as to deny its importance and quality (much like Kurt Vonnegut novels read like light humor until you think of them). When the whole experience and the accumulation of imperfectly perfect images and sounds resonate in the old noggin, however, 24 Hour Party People reveals itself as a secret classic.