It’s 1977. Britain is decaying. Slums, mass unemployment and far-right rallies. Tired of a corrupt Establishment, the raging torrent of restless youth smashes through the crumbling dam of deference. Four spotty working class punks release “God Save the Queen” on this, the year of the Silver Jubilee, sticking two fingers up to the toffs. Factory staff refuse to press their record and vicars lament moral turpitude. The filth. The fury.

It’s 2022. Britain is decaying. Food banks, job insecurity, housing shortages, Brexit chaos and refugees packed off to Africa. While tax-dodging billionaires are knighted, the poor lose benefits and a law-breaking PM refuses to leave No 10. And all this on the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee year.

The historical parallels are remarkable… and every TV executive’s dream. So the release next month of the Danny Boyle-directed biopic series Pistols on Disney+ is no coincidence. Two Jubilees, two Britains, two societies riven by division. Bingo!

Based on guitarist Steve Jones’ memoir Lonely Boy: Tales from A Sex Pistol, it is the latest in the conveyor belt of asinine dramatisations centred on a band, singer or music-based movement.

John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, is not happy, and took another pop at his ex-bandmates last week, saying “none of these f**ks would have a career but for me”, after claiming they gave their go-ahead without his permission. He’s branded it “middle class fantasy”.

The former Pistols frontman makes a valid point. I may be being unfair trashing the series before it’s even aired, but having watched the trailer my hopes aren’t exactly high. Once seen, it can’t be unseen.

Read more: Politics: Musk: Putin: Games Without Frontiers a chilling reality

The firestorm of punk that once burned so bright looks set to be extinguished in the tepid waters of Disney-fication. Lacking any similar cultural upheaval in the present day, past rebellion has been repackaged into feelgood money-spinning corporate mush.

The film industry’s music biopic obsession is understandable. Old songs and big name actors all add up to big box office bucks. Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman may be the most famous recent films to cash in, but it’s a well-worn cinematic path – Walk The Line, La Vie en Rose and The Doors to name but a few. It’s not even the first outing for the Sex Pistols. An earlier set of doppelgängers plugged into their amps for 1986’s Sid and Nancy.

From an artistic perspective they usually disappoint. Most of them – but not all – descend into a “greatest hits” showcase, while stagey lookalikes in bad wigs and worse outfits over-act in corny melodramas trying to live the role. Freddie Mercury’s Aids diagnosis prior to Live Aid was a falsehood too far, while the family reaction to Elton John’s composition of Your Song was embarrassing. Indeed, the lead in Stardust looked more like a roadie for Slade than the sylph-like superstar David Bowie.

Read more: Is Brian Cox's swearing habit an occupational hazard?

It helps if you’re not a fan of the band – saving you from the mental torture of comparisons. If it’s accuracy you want, then concert footage, interviews or a good documentary are preferable to any movie. Peter Jackson’s Get Back from the Let It Be sessions has been god’s gift to Beatles fans, putting them smack bang in the studio. No actor hamming it up, no scripted monologues, no dodgy storylines. It’s them. It’s real.

But with biopics on Elvis, Dylan, the Bee Gees, Whitney and even “Weird Al” Yankovic in the pipeline there seems to be no end in sight for the soulless but popular genre. Nevermind God Save the Queen, I say, please save me from this over-hyped, stultifying guff.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.