When I heard about breakdancing documentary Planet B-Boy around a year ago, I remember dismissing it as the kind of specialist movie that wouldn't be of interest to me. Didn't breakdancing go out in the Eighties, anyway?

Not quite. Yes, Planet B-Boy is packed with wall-to-wall breakdancing, which is sure to attract aficionados of b-boy culture. But the documentary also does a great job of showing how this dance scene has developed, largely out of the mainstream eye, into a spectacular artform that combines creativity, physical power, and finesse. As I watched, I couldn't help but be drawn in.

The film starts by telling us what went wrong. Older b-boys talk about how "embarrassing" breakdance became after it hit the mainstream in the Eighties and became a commercial affair. The mainstream grew weary of it, but b-boying continued to have a passionate following as an outlet for personal expression and self-discovery.

The story follows five top b-boy squads from Las Vegas, Osaka, Seoul, one from rural South Korea, and another from Paris as they prepare for the major b-boy international competition the Battle of the Nations in 2005. We learn that different countries are renowed for their particular styles - the French for the beauty of their moves, the Koreans, the reigning champions, for their power moves and technical brilliance (one Korean can spin on his head for hours it seems). The Japanese are supreme innovators.

There are insights too, through interviews with individual dancers and parents, into the personal challenges each struggles with. For the Japanese and Korean squad leaders, the competition forms a landmark point in their relationship with their fathers. The French team, with 12-year-old, blonde-haired Lil' Kev providing some of the laughs, want to raise the profile of their largely immigrant commune Chelles. None of the teams have girls in them and there are few female breakdancers - this is mostly a young, male milieu, although a feisty grandmother briefly busts some moves on the floor.

This is the first documentary from Toronto-born, Korean-American Benson Lee. He keeps it simple by focusing on the competition and build-up, maintaining a light-hearted tone. The backstory is stretched a little thin by trying to focus on so many people, but we learn enough about the characters to be emotionally invested in them as they prepare for the climactic dance-off against squads from 17 other nations in a little town in Germay.

The most memorable aspect of the film, of course, are the moves, simply because they are often stunning in their physical skill and invention, whether it be the elaborate choreographed sequences involving all members of a squad, or individual freestyle moves. I found myself watching with a dropped jaw much of the time.