They now seem impossible to dislodge. Ghosts and echoes on every street, despite the blanket regeneration of a city that has seen the famous Granada building shrink to insignificance behind a barrage of modernity.

And Joy Division are back. With the impending 25th anniversary of Ian Curtis's death, the hype has already started to scream from the newsstands. How strange to see his familiar visage, snapped by a young Kevin Cummins, adorning the cover of this month's Mojo. What's more, with his biopic kicking into pre-production - and set for release in 2006 - this is a ghost that just isn't going to drift away. Whatever it was that Joy Division did, is now becoming as deeply entrenched within the fabric of modern music as The Velvet Underground, 10 years before them.

On Sunday night, at Centra Bar in Manchesters's Tib Street, I met the film's producer, Todd Eckhart, in town briefly from his Hollywood base ... touching base, as it were, with all manner of Mancunia. A larger than life character, although rather younger than I had imagined, he deflected questions in the American way, by hurling them straight back. In good spirits though, he answered the most pertinent question of all. In view of the fact that there has never been a really good rock film, why does he think that Control - for that is the working title, will be any different? (Given that 24 Hour Party People was vastly overrated and contained absolutely no evocation of Manchester at all).

"Well, it's not a rock film," he snapped joyfully.

"I am not Oliver Stone, you know. This ain't gonna be no Doors." This is not really about Joy Division. It's about Ian Curtis and the emotional situation he found himself in. We are going to great lengths to make sure that we get it absolutely right. Raw and how it was."

Panning away from Todd, sitting around the table on Sunday ... a curious gathering indeed. Invisible to the remainder of the clientele, our little gathering included Ian Curtis' daughter, Natalie, (a photographer and researcher on the film), ex-Smiths bassist Andy Rourke, Goldblade leader and journalist John Robb, Elbow's Gus Garvey, Oz It Records boss Chris Hewitt and ex-Stone Roses manager and one time wife of Tony Wilson, Lindsay Reade. With the exception of Rourke, who has grown beautifully into the look that can only be gained by spending 20 years hanging around fellow rock musicians, no one would have cast us a second glance. The idea of the evening, I think, was to thrash out the notion of a high level Joy Division tribute album, perhaps featuring some of the assembled musos alongside the likes of U2 who have already given a tentative blessing. (Although Kraftwerk, if seems, are showing little interest). It's early days and these things tend to hang on a precarious string of logistics ... so we shall see). For Todd's part, he exclaimed a profound love of Manchester.

"I adore this place ... I can't wait. I'm coming over here to live for the duration of the shooting."

One senses that four months of relentless summer dank and drizzle should cure him of that Anglophile affectation and will undoubtedly send him scuttling back to the comforting LA sun.

For me, the choice of venue proved curious. It was on Tib Street and, perhaps in the very same establishment that, 25 years earlier, myself and Joy Division manager the late Rob Gretton had, in a state of considerable inebriation after a lunchtime session in a pub followed by the purchase of my bright blue wedding suit, purchased a three-foot-long bone for my two foot long dog. In those days, Tib Street comprised of a string of pet shops, full of yelping puppies with heartfelt eyes. One week later, Gretton was among the sundry revellers at my Stockport wedding, the very night that his star, Ian Curtis, committed suicide. The portents for the wedding, although rather fitting, were not particularly healthy. I apologise if that seems like one vast name-drop and I don't mean to be flippant. That's how it was.

Studying Todd, deep into Sunday night, I wondered how the guiding lights of this film team could ever effectively convey the strangeness of those times. I have my doubts but, from watching the diligence of all involved, I sense an honest, open and, hopefully, beautiful film.