“I came out of the womb with jazz hands.” – Robbie Williams
It’s a surreal feeling to have a movie theater all to oneself. And yet strangely befitting a beautiful fever dream of a celebrity biopic like Better Man. Of course, it probably doesn’t help that I saw this at lunchtime on a bitterly cold Tuesday in January. Nonetheless, I feel like I’m the only person in America who is a super fan of the film’s subject, British pop singer Robbie Williams. He emerged from the ether in the summer of 1999 when Ricky Martin was conquering the charts. I liked them both, but preferred Robbie’s acerbic, sassy take on pop music with his first single, the James Bond theme homage “Millennium.” And I have followed him with great interest ever since.
Akin to Australian singer songwriter Peter Allen, Robbie seems to have had more fame everywhere else in the world but America, which seems consistent with his life’s calling to keep banging his head until bloodied against the brutal wall of superstardom. Like Allen, both artists marry soul-searching, left-of-center, searing lyrics with intoxicating melodies, all apparently lost on American radio listeners, and that’s a shame.
This film, covering Williams’ ascent to solo stardom seems to be following a similar path at the box office, with nary an American moviegoer giving it a chance. I’m quite surprised it even was released over here, though grateful that I had a chance to see it on the big screen.
Director Michael Gracey, who also helmed The Greatest Showman, taking the life of another problematic figure in P.T. Barnum and crafting an exhilarating fairy tale, works similar magic on Williams’ life. Perhaps our American politicians should hire him for their next campaign videos. He seems to do well with personalities with checkered pasts.
Gracey makes the odd but inspired choice of replacing Williams with a CGI-rendered chimpanzee, deftly portrayed in motion capture by Jonno Davies. This narrative concept achieves two pragmatic aims: one, we don’t have the inevitable distraction of watching someone who almost looks like the real life person they are portraying, and, two, it allows us as an audience to imprint more fully on the central character and their tragicomic journey. No explanation is offered in the context of the film, other than Robbie Williams, who himself narrates, explaining that he sees himself as a cheeky monkey in life, genus distinctions notwithstanding. As a storytelling gimmick, this swap works shockingly well.
The supporting cast, chiefly Williams’ family (Kate Mulvany, Steve Pemberton, Alison Steadman), achieve miracles selling the conceit, offering us a warm and often bruising depiction of the hardscrabble life Williams navigated on his way up the pop charts.
Pemberton, as Williams’ adulation-seeking father, deserves extra credit for not devolving into out-of-touch absent father villain shtick. He haunts the film as Williams’ source of misplaced motivation, suggesting that the only love that matters comes from faceless fandom and the worst tragedy to befall anyone is to be a “nobody.” The seeds are thereby planted for Williams to achieve everything he ever wanted and should have never received, self-immolating in the process. Williams explains to the one childhood friend who sticks with him: “Who cares if YOU love it? What matters is if OTHER people love you doing it.” Heartbreaking.
Much like the Elton John film biography Rocketman, which shares a kind of heightened and surreal DNA with Better Man, the latter film is most effective in remixing its subject matter’s hit ditties as unabashed song and dance commentary on expected (clichéd) story beats: the vicious cycle of rampant substance abuse and alienation, the deflection of inner turmoil through ass-shaking antics and ill-timed irreverence, the crushing burdens of fame, THAT scene where the rock star trashes his own home at the height of his acclaim, and so on. Standout numbers include “Rock DJ” – the jubilantly manic London street scene depicting Williams’ initial “Take That” boy band ascent – and “Angels” – the passing of his beloved “Nan” when Williams begins to realize he’s been spending his life’s energies in all the wrong places.
As with Williams’ music, Better Man is candy-coated on the outside but carries a corrosive, sticky nougat center, a cautionary tale for all who think the next brass ring will deliver the healing they desperately crave. It’s an excellent film that will no doubt become a cult favorite just when Williams no longer desires the validation. The story of his life.
And early morning when I wake up
I look like Kiss but without the make-up
And that’s a good line to take it to the bridge
And you know, and you know
‘Cause my life’s a mess
And I’m trying to grow
So before I’m old I’ll confess
You think that I’m strong
You’re wrong
You’re wrong
I sing my song
My song
My song …
If I did it all again I’d be a nun
The rain was never cold when I was young
I’m still young, we’re still young
Life’s too short to be afraid
Step inside the sun
– “Strong” (Robbie Williams & Guy Chambers)
