PARK CITY — One film that should have local staying power no matter how many awards it wins, or doesn't win, when the Sundance Film Festival closes this weekend is "New York Doll," the documentary of rock guitarist Arthur "Killer" Kane.

The extraordinary story of Kane first being a part of rock 'n' roll history with the enigmatic New York Dolls — a '70s era boy band that looked like girls — and later a born-again Mormon was filmed in Los Angeles, New York and London, never touching on Utah soil. But it nonetheless hits a lot of chords close to home. Utah may not be the epicenter of rock 'n' roll, but it is of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It isn't every day that such disparate subjects converge in a single life. A '70s rock star becoming a Mormon is about as likely, it's suggested in the movie, "as Donnie Osmond joining the New York Dolls."

The Dolls were everything parents feared in the early '70s: a five-man band in New York City eschewing morality and mortality (and wearing lots of makeup). The fact that they made genius music, inspiring the likes of Blondie, Generation X, the Sex Pistols and legions more, only made it better, and worse. Sex, alcohol and drugs — underscored by the overdose death of drummer Billy Murcia in London — did in the band by 1975, not three years after it began.

Arthur Kane was the bass player, nicknamed "Killer" because of what one New York writer called "killer bass lines." He was 25 when his 15 minutes were up. "New York Doll" is the rest of the story.

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Even extraordinary tales can be messed up in the retelling, if agendas get involved.

But despite the fact director Greg Whiteley is LDS himself, and met Kane at church in Los Angeles, his documentary manages to avoid the expectant biases. As I watched a screening of "New York Doll" this past Wednesday, I spent the first few minutes ready to flinch at the overt glorifying of all things Mormon.

I soon relaxed, however, as it became apparent that Whiteley was keeping his distance, allowing both Arthur Kane and the church he joined after he hit rock bottom to portray themselves, for better or worse, without undue directorial interference.

On my Sundance ballot, I gave it a five, out of five.

How can you not be mesmerized by a film that has Sister Miller, a co-worker of Kane's at the Family History Center library in Los Angeles, and rock legend Morrissey, yet another devotee of the Dolls, alternately talking about the same man?