Britney Spears performed in Manchester during her Circus tour in UK Barcroft Media

Britney Saved My Life

BBC Three, Sun, 9pm

HUNDREDS of Britain’s ­biggest Britney Spears fans have been gathered to ostensibly re-enact her video ...Baby One More Time. Actually, they’re there to provide a shoddy five-minute finale to a ­meandering documentary-gawp at some of Britney’s more colourful supporters.

Eighteen-year-old Sam, for instance, is getting a tattoo. Not with Britney’s face, but with a lyric from one of her songs. It reads: “Oh, baby, baby, if you seek Amy ­tonight,” which, for the less phonetically minded, reads as “Oh, baby, baby, F-U-C-K me ­tonight”. The body art is placed tastefully just above his arse.

Then there’s sweet, ­­deluded ­Matthew, 14, who tells us he has listened to Womanizer 3,016 times on his computer and about 6,000 on his iPod. Showing us his Spears shrine, he points and says: “This ­picture ­captures the goddess because she’s got a crown.” These ­people have ­really given their obsession a lot of thought.

He then adds: “I think she’s completely pure.” What the documentary should have done was cut straight to ­Britney ­impersonator ­Kimberly ­reciting Britney’s ­infamous line following her wardrobe malfunction at a Florida ­concert: “My p*ssy is hanging out of my effing outfit!”

This doc is like ­college coursework and the faux pas come thick and fast. Another fan, Suzi, explains how she was struck by Britney after seeing the video to ...Baby One More Time growing up in Iran.

“Wait up,” says the ­interviewer. “This was in ­Tehran? How come you didn’t get stoned to death?” Uh-oh.

Later, talking to a

16-year-old ­Jehovah’s Witness, the interviewer makes more dim-­witted assumptions. “I thought you guys weren’t ­allowed to sing and dance.” Um, OK...

Despite the shoddy quality, a truth still emerges: even if you think Britney’s music is crap, it clearly affects a lot of people. Fans also connect with Britney’s troubled ­personal life – the singer is a more genuine icon for the messed-up and confused than most emo ­heroes. She had it all, then lost it, bashing car ­bonnets with brollies, losing her kids, ­flashing her noo-noo. Britney defiantly ­shaving her head was the pop version of ex-Manic Street Preacher Richey Edwards ­carving “4 Real” into his arm with a ­razor blade.

Luis says he was treated like he was contaminated for ­liking Britney, but My ­Prerogative helped. Stronger gets Sam through ­anything, and I’m Not A Girl ­reminds one fan of her time after leaving ­hospital “cos I was sad”. ­Another admits: “I’d still ­defend her if she murdered someone.” That’s devotion.

What’s sad is not the ­obsession itself, but the fact there’s no reason to suppose Britney gives a damn about these fans. The time she could connect with them at her concerts is squandered and she barely utters a word. A couple of rambling minutes would be cherished. Even getting the name right of the town where she’s playing would be a good start.