BETTER MAN

This is unquestionably a totally bonkers idea, but even though the film never explains or acknowledges this strange storytelling choice (no one ever refers to Robbie as anything other than human), the decision quickly makes surprising sense and serves the film incredibly well. Gracey ('The Greatest Showman') credits a comment from Williams that he always felt like a performing monkey on stage, but what is more potent is the way this reframing honours Williams' feeling of being an outsider in every situation he finds himself. He's not the kid picked first at sport, he's not the teenager with the stable family, he's not the member of Take That taken seriously, he's not the pop star anyone believes to have any genuine promise or talent. By having Williams appear completely incongruous to the world around him, we are able to see his story firmly from his perspective. There's no magical moment where the familiar face of Williams transforms into his ape avatar or vice versa - the choice is complete and the magic is never broken - and as a consequence, 'Better Man' is able to achieve the illusion of a first-person perspective in the biopic form better than any biopic I've seen since the direct-to-camera approach in 'Get On Up' (2014). We see Williams as he sees himself - brutish, animalistic, outcast, unconventional, chaotic and singular. It's his self-loathing and his ego made manifest in a manner that is both radical and inspired.

The Williams-as-monkey choice also frees the film from the need to be visually, rhythmically or tonally conventional, building on the traditional biopic structure rather than dismantling it. We accept this as magic realism rather than naturalism, so Gracey and his collaborators construct the film with endless flair and imagination. Key moments in Williams' life can now be reduced to moments of abstraction or bombastic musical montages, a surrealist dream logic replacing straightforward dramatisation or exposition. While Williams himself does narrate the film, Gracey and co-writers Simon Gleeson and Oliver Cole don't fall back on the narration when the visual storytelling is already doing the work. Again, this solidifies the film as being from Williams' perspective rather than a biography of his life and the frankness in the narration carries into the film. This isn't a flattering portrait of Williams, embracing his dangerous and occasionally vicious egotism as much as his incredible vulnerability, and the tragedy of the film is that we know this unflattering portrait of the artist is consistent with his sense of self.

As a consequence, 'Better Man' is given the opportunity to craft the narrative with a sharper thematic point. Williams' destiny of success is all but assumed from the beginning of the film, so instead of it being about how he achieved this, we focus instead on why he does and what he loses in the process. Boiled down to its essential elements, 'Better Man' is more a film about the need for children to have someone believe in them. On the one hand, Robbie has the unending dedication of his grandmother Betty (Alison Steadman, BBC's 'Pride and Prejudice') and his frustrated yet dedicated mother Janet (Kate Mulvany, 'Elvis'). Betty in particular becomes his rock, his one true unwavering champion but also the one person who can draw the vulnerable parts of him into the light. On the other is his father Peter, generally dismissive of Robbie until his son's burgeoning success bolsters his own desire for fame. This isn't a parasitic relationship of father to son but one far more complex. There's love there but it's one smothered by the need for recognition, Peter from the public and Robbie from his father. In one of the most astute observations in the film, Williams remarks that a celebrity become stuck in an arrested development at the age they become famous. He is stuck as a teenager, not just in his reckless behaviour but in the need for approval from his father or anyone that resembles a father figure. By allowing the film to focus on a thematic arc rather than hitting the standard biographical markers (to the extent that the rise of his solo career is only addressed as a surreal, nightmare montage), the many bombastic elements of the film are given a sense of focus and the emotional journey is far more satisfying.

That focus follows into Gracey's directorial approach, just as dynamic as his work on 'The Greatest Showman' but here with much sturdier material. There's an effective balance here between handheld gritty realism (Erik Wilson's cinematography is wonderfully immediate and dynamic), with the image graded with a grainy grittiness to it, and the slick and polish of a major film musical. The gritty visual texture not only helps support the CGI elements but adds to the sense of this being a subjective memory. The editing team ensure that each moment zips to the next with imaginative transitions and dynamic rhythms, giving the film a sense of flowing between a fever dream and a breakdown. A consequence of the film leaning into its darker elements is a sense of lag in the second act (just as is usually the case with a biopic) but there's an awareness of the need to give these moments appropriate space.

The film really comes into its own with the musical sequences, every single one a marvel in its own right. A number of Williams' songs are utilised to give added emotional depth to moments of sorrow or confusion. When Williams begins to sing, the film really has earned the rule of a character singing because words no longer suffice to express how they are feeling. Two sequences of particular note are 'Come Undone', reimagined as a haunting descent into Williams' self-pity, and 'Angel', now treated as a gentle, powerful hymn. Balancing these introspective moments are flashes of overwhelming, breathtaking theatricality, driven by dynamic choreography from Ashley Wallen. 'Let Me Entertain You' erupts as an epic battle cry that evolves into one of the film's more radical set pieces, 'She's The One' becomes a giddy classic Hollywood romance, and the musical sequence set around 'Rock DJ' is maybe the best in any film since Spielberg's 'West Side Story' (2021). I was so gobsmacked by the latter in particular that I almost leapt to my feet in the cinema.

Credit must also be given to Jonno Davies for his tremendous performance as Williams. His excellent work giving emotional depth and physical specificity to the character elevates the monkey avatar beyond a gimmick. You immediately feel so much empathy for him and, through the pixels, there's an enormous soul and humanity. He works so beautifully with Pemberton and Steadman in particular, the latter delivering one of the film's most memorable performance. Gracey populates the film with a terrific supporting cast of Australian faces, but what makes the film's vast scale really work is that everyone is in-step with Gracey's insane tone and vision. They know the brief, and even more importantly, believe in the brief.

I'm not going to lie: I went into 'Better Man' intrigued but dubious. The idea of Robbie Williams as a chimpanzee was certainly a swing, but the film itself would need to be carefully constructed to support it. Was this just a gimmick or was this a vital, radical step in helping us understand this singular, complex subject? It only took a few minutes for me to fall hopelessly in love with it. This is a truly unique, wildly imaginative and deeply moving film, one whose familiar structure works in its favour as its aesthetic approach reaches for the heavens. Michael Gracey has built on the promise he showed in 'The Greatest Showman', embraced stronger material and established himself as a someone with a refreshing vision and the talent to achieve it. Forget any trepidations you have and throw yourself into the wondrous chaos of 'Better Man'. To my great delight, it's easily the biggest surprise of the year.