Robbie Williams finds redemption in the penitance of the ape.
If you’re anything like me, e.g. not a particular fan of Robbie Williams (I always found him to be a little too far along the cocky twat spectrum for my tastes, although some of his music was decent), you might approach Better Man with a nagging question in your head, to wit: “Who the fuck does Robbie Williams think he is that he merits a biopic of his own?”
The answer to that question, it turns out, is a profoundly raw, honest, transformative and ultimately redemptive one as Williams invites us inside his troubled psyche, to see his life through his unique lens and understand the angels and demons which drove his life to swing wildly between cheeky pop sensation and tortured soul. While his status of late hasn’t been all that high, Better Man reminds us of his once towering status in British pop culture, and unflinchingly lays bare the suffering and sacrifice it took to get there.
Much of Better Man‘s appeal rests on how it navigates Williams’ duality—his boisterous, larger-than-life stage presence juxtaposed with the private battles that shaped his life and ultimately career. Director Michael Gracey, having previously helmed The Greatest Showman, is well-versed in crafting visual spectacle, and that sensibility is unmistakably present here. But unlike The Greatest Showman’s unabashed hagiography of its subject, there’s no such whitewashing here. Williams’ trials and tribulations are exposed and explored in all their grimy, gritty glory, beginning with the film’s boldest – and most brilliant – creative choice: to depict Williams, and Williams alone, as a CGI chimpanzee. It’s a striking and utterly inspired metaphor that encapsulates his feelings of being a “performing monkey” under the relentless scrutiny of fame, as well as feeling that fame at such a young age stunted his growth and left him a little less evolved than those around him. As a visual shorthand for the feeling of being an outsider in the public eye, it’s a triumph.
The narrative largely follows a linear structure, narrated by Williams himself and taking his story from childhood, through the Take That years and beyond, from rise to fall to rise again. More a memoir than a testament, Williams’ wry honesty shines through in his treatment of those famous faces and names who drift in and out of his story and, most of all in his treatment of himself. As well as narrating (much of which is taken from candid recorded interviews made by Gracey while researching the project, meaning a great deal of the “real” Robbie ends up in the movie), he also gives voice to his simian simulacrum and proves himself to be a capable voice actor alongside his more obvious talents. With elastic pacing and bold stylistic flourishes, Better Man is intended to evoke memory rather than deliver strict chronology and manages to do so without ever becoming disorienting, balancing Williams’ introspective confessional with the euphoria of performance.
The CGI chimpanzee alter ego is marvellously realised—a blend of impressive special effects and subtle emotional cues enhanced by Williams’ expressive eyes—which deftly avoids the uncanny valley and quickly feels natural and convincing within the world of the film. Part of transforming it from gimmick to greatness is the ease with which the supporting cast playing Williams’ family embrace their cheeky monkey completely. Alison Steadman, Steve Pemberton and Kate Mulvaney make it easy to accept and believe. Williams brings an uncanny blend of bravado and vulnerability to the role that underscores his public and private personas and the choice to present Williams as a CGI chimpanzee shapes the narrative’s emotional tone in powerful and unexpected ways, offering a poignant and unsettling lens through which to view his inner turmoil and public persona. Nobody is presented as mere props to his journey, everyone is presented, albeit not always flatteringly, as nuanced figures, with his complex relationships driving much of the story’s emotional heft.
There is a certain audacity in Better Man‘s refusal to adhere to the traditional music biopic formula. Rather than a rags-to-riches narrative punctuated by chart-topping hits and reconciliations, it offers something more introspective: a meditation on self-doubt, fame, and the often-elusive nature of happiness amidst apparent success. Less sanitised than Bohemian Rhapsody and far more willing to be open about the darkest moments than Rocketman, Williams may not have the musical legacy to match the likes of Elton John or Freddie Mercury but he has undoubtedly delivered a biographical movie that’s arguably better than many others. There’s a potent sense of personal redemption for Williams in this cinematic confessional and perhaps some measure of it in there for the viewer too. Full of honesty, empathy and sincere reflection, Robbie Williams has said in multiple interviews that he found the process of making the film transformative, leaving him literally a Better Man. Watching it with an open heart may just make you one too.
