An unexpected delight, this documentary about Singapore’s only hipsters making one of its only independent films in the early 90s is a highlight of the Sundance programme. First-time director Sandi Tan revisits a time when she and a group of pretentious visionaries shot a feature length film also called Shirkers, the story of an 18-year-old killer roaming the streets having adventures. The result is a joyous and funny recollection of a youth when anything felt possible – and it could be a big hit if it gets the wide distribution it deserves.

Tan’s original film project was a cross between Heathers and Godard and it looks stunning, but we see it only in snatches and hear no original audio. This is because at the emotional heart of the film is the loss of her magnum opus thanks to the inexplicable behaviour of an older male mentor – Georges – which meant that the cans of film were held captive for 25 years. Tan beautifully weaves together details of the strange dynamic between her and Georges in a way that would delight her cinematic heroes. There are classic cinema elements everywhere - a road movie element based upon Breathless, impossible challenges based on Fitzcarraldo, and street scenes modelled on Paris, Texas. Georges was a liar, even to himself, and his manipulative lies were infused with an intense cinephilia.

Tan has a fine line in absurdity, and even suggests she that the original Shirkers pre-empted scenes from Ghost World and other early 2000s indie films. She and her crew were certainly ahead of their time and a series of admirers wonder what could have been. Unlike any other film made in a strict rule-following Singapore culture, it could have changed the course of the local film industry and made the young crew famous. But the film also suggests it was always destined to be that way, in line with the general absurdity of the whole project, and really it was all about friendship. Tan’s connection with her best friends Jasmine and Sophie is a joy, their bickering in the present day attesting to years of closeness beyond the intense two months of this film-making, and an each woman has an ironic detachment to her manner that belies real love for her best friends.

Shirkers is also an elegy for a lost Singapore, whose economic boom meant that not long after shooting, skyscrapers were built on top of wild jungle. There’s surprising poignancy in the overlaying of contemporary over-developed urban scenes on top of the old shops and green landscapes where Tan and her fellow actors had their japes. The crew’s street casting is also hilarious - they hired bewildered, trusting people they met across Singapore something akin to Harmony Korine. But unlike Korine, the way they speak of those people today shows real affection for their non-actors, rather than any manipulation. The whole project was one of DIY joy.

Tan has left the island now – all the friends scattered after the film – and suggests she had to do so having had her heart broken when her edited film never materialised. That sense of heartbreak resonates with anyone feeling regretful for the idealism of their youth. A picture of a time in all our lives when we are young and believe any creative endeavour is possible, Tan was and is no shirker whatever she might say. She imagined multiple striking images - a small child dancing, Singapore’s biggest dog, the shooting of a hated piano teacher, the stealing of a young child, a board game being played on a train track. She translated every wild image in her head onto the screen.

But this is so much more than a film about a film, it’s about young women breaking the rules set in a conservative country - the process of doing that was a lot more powerful than finishing the actual film.