A second documentary on Whitney Houston wasn’t needed — but it’s powerful and reinforces the importance of her story

A SECOND documentary about the late singer in a year? Houston, we have a problem, I thought.

I feared more clips of Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, more Eighties perms and a re-run of the tragic story most of us know well.

My main concern for this new Whitney Houston production, though, was that it was masterminded by her family.

Would it be a sugar-coated ­version of events, like the Senna ­documentary that glossed over ­serious questions about his death? Not a bit. Whitney isn’t just warts and all, it is big festering emotional blisters and all.

Credit must go to both the singer’s relatives for being so open — and to Scottish director Kevin Macdonald for his dogged pursuit of the truth.

Macdonald, whose previous ­credits include Touching The Void, uncovers genuine revelations about the well-documented singer. Her tragic death from cocaine abuse has been written about many times, but even fans fully versed in it will learn something new here.

He interviews all but one of the people who knew Whitney best, teasing confessions out of many.

Long-buried family secrets hint at a dark side to her youth which might explain her inability to function without stimulants.

Only her former husband Bobby Brown and mum Cissy Houston refuse to face the past candidly.

Most importantly, the documentary is thoughtfully pieced together, allowing the viewer to form their own conclusions about what brought the singer down.

Macdonald doesn’t force a theory on the audience like Nick Broomfield’s Can I Be Me last year.

And he weaves it all around powerfully kinetic montages that never let you forget what a remarkable talent Houston was.

There is no denying the power of her voice and the importance of her story.

This has to be the final, definitive word on Whitney.

Now please let her memory rest in peace.

Whitney, 120mins (15)

★★★★☆