“I came out of the womb with jazz hands,” the voice of the massive UK hitmaker Robbie Williams tells you at the film’s beginning. While that statement is very telling about Williams being a born entertainer, it doesn’t necessarily explain why he is played by a CGI chimpanzee in his biopic Better Man. That’s right, a walking, talking, singing, dancing CGI chimpanzee among a world of human actors. Williams gave director Michael Gracey this audacious concept in an off-hand comment during an interview in which Williams said, “I’m just a performing monkey.”
The audience laughed, but Gracey (a Brit himself) hatched upon an idea. Let’s tell a pop star’s story through a character who looks like he got cut from the rebooted Planet of the Apes movies. What’s fascinating about the choice is that it doesn’t just bring to life Williams’ comment; it also illuminates his life-long feeling as a rejected outsider despite the incredible heights of fame he achieved. It also means no human had to play Williams himself and try to recreate a one-of-a-kind personality and the unique cadence of his voice.
Earlier this year, Netflix released a fairly conventional (if highly enjoyable) docuseries on Williams’ ascent to stardom, descent into self-flagellation, and desire to become a better man. Simply titled Robbie Williams, I ate it up and chose to write about the series. It occurred to me, though, that I’d have to explain to a lot of Americans why they should care about Williams in the first place.
Simply put, for nearly a decade, Robbie Williams was the biggest pop star in the world. That is, everywhere in the world–everywhere except the United States. Williams started out on his road to stardom as the youngest member of a “boy band” called Take That, who were a sensation in Britain, but only managed one hit, “Back For Good,” here in the States. When Williams left the band, he eclipsed all of his more experienced mates by leaps and bounds. No one would have predicted that.
Despite coming into his own as a solo artist and cutting entire albums that sounded like greatest hits records–how the record company picked the singles would be fascinating to know. Did they pour over each track with magnifying glasses or just throw darts at a board? Either method would have been sufficient. Still, despite Brit-pop peers like Oasis and Blur finding a foothold on pop radio in the U.S., Williams could barely get into rotation on MTV. The disturbing truth is Williams’ biggest success on this side of the Atlantic is the insipid cover of his gorgeous ballad “Angels,” which Jessica Simpson turned into a musical version of the worst romance novel you’ve ever read.
All of this begs the question: What in the world was Paramount Pictures thinking when it acquired the film from the two independent studios that made it and decided to give it a platform release in America on Christmas Day and then go wide on January 17, 2025?
The only conclusion I can come to is that Paramount is led by a crew of mad bastards, or, and this seems less likely, the undeniable brilliance of Better Man can’t be, er, denied. Now, I must say, it does take some getting used to—the whole chimp device. I know about ten minutes in, the thought came to mind, “They’re really doing this? And for 135 minutes?” Yes, yes, they fucking are.
The degree of self-imposed difficulty is off all charts (pop or otherwise). And yet, and yet, it works. It works even though the film is chock full of rock-star cliches: the broken family, the vile band manager, the awful nature of the music business, the sex, drugs, and rock and roll of all of Better Man has been told before, but never like this. And I know what you’re thinking right now: You’re thinking, I mean the talking chimp part. Sure, that’s never been done, but what makes Better Man feel truly unique beyond the simian storytelling device is the simple fact that there is no one else like Robbie Williams.
His personality is split between artistic brilliance, outrageous bravado, razor-sharp wit, and a depth of self-loathing that nearly drowns out the previously stated attributes. The key aspect of the film is Having Williams switch back and forth between all these aspects of his personality. He has to play himself. No one else could do it—well, other than, apparently, a talking chimp.
Michael Gracey’s previous film was also a musical: 2017’s Greatest Showman, starring Hugh Jackman—a film I could barely tolerate. The leap Gracey makes from Showman to Better Man is hard to fully describe without going through reams of Google Docs, but let’s just say it’s substantial.
The technical prowess and visual effects are extraordinary, but the emotional depth and management of the wildly swinging tones based on Williams’ ever-changing moods is genuinely stunning. There is a sequence in the movie regarding the moment Take That realizes they are going to get their shot at the brass ring that starts from an office building, breaks out into the streets, and then back into interior locations that has to be seen to be believed. I’m sure there are some hidden edits in the set piece, but my discerning eye could not pick up a single one. Yet, as grand as it is, there’s a jab that the film takes here at his former bandmates (whom he has since reconciled with but was treated like an afterthought during their time together). The track they are performing in true break-into-song (and dance fashion) is a solo hit of Williams’ that came much later in his career: “Rock DJ.” When the band celebrates their newfound fortune, the film makes the group perform a Williams song, as if to say, “Take that, Take That.”
This celebratory shiv will soon be followed by Williams, who drowned his success in a biblical flood of booze and Tony Montana-scaled cocaine indulgence, leaving the band and taking a suicidal drive down a highway to his gorgeous heartbreaker “Come Undone.” The scene is nightmarish, wrenching, and an effective metaphor encapsulating a life on the brink. Whether at peak success or the depths of self-loathing (not to mention all the bits in between), Better Man works completely. And again, we are talking about a movie with a CGI chimpanzee as our star.
The animators and VFX crew deserve a lot of credit for subtle touches that enhance the emotive qualities of their creation. Ever so slightly, the chimp’s face is given features just near enough to Williams’ own to add a layer of humanity. Most importantly, they also give the chimp Williams’ eyes, the tortured, braggadocio-filled windows to his soul.
So when Williams romances fellow Brit pop star Nicole Appleton (from the band All Saints) on a boat and shot in beautiful old-school musical fashion, we start to forget the chimp; we just see this creature whose visage reflects Williams’ self-view. In almost any other set of hands, one might be compelled to make a bestiality joke, but miraculously, not here. That song and dance number on the boat is as romantic and human as anything I’ve seen all year.
That scene becomes all the more critical as we see Williams’ career success take off and his personal life fall apart. As intelligent, as hilarious, and as charming as he is, he is also a relentless drug addict who can be viciously cruel and self-indulgent. Even at the moment of what was surely a career-topping success—headlining Knebworth to over 100,000 rabid fans—the full swing of emotions is on display. The performance begins with Williams’ patented opener, “Let Me Entertain You,” in what feels like a moment of great triumph, but inside, Williams is at war with himself. As the music plays on, the scene moves from the outward to the internal, and the internal is genuinely apocalyptic, as the VFX turns Knebworth into a desolate wasteland where Williams fights with versions of himself.
I know Better Man sounds wildly over-the-top, and there’s no denying that it is. Imagine a Baz Luhrmann musical that somehow doesn’t suffocate itself with twitchy, infuriating editing and slows down often enough to allow the story to unfold as opposed to fold you over. Let me put it more succinctly: Imagine a good Baz Luhrmann movie.
When Gracey does slow the movie down, such as the moment Appleton (played by the lovely Raechelle Banno) leaves Williams due to his many excesses, she shouts, “You’re so ugly when you’re wasted.” To which Williams dismissively replies, “I’ll be sober in the morning.” I shit thee not; it reminded me of the moment Diane Keaton leaves Jack Nicholson in Reds. There is genuine hurt and pathos in Better Man to go with the spectacular spectacle. Even more affecting is the sequence of Williams’ singing “Angels” over the gravestone of his grandmother, whose sudden decline Williams was removed from due to his wasted inability to answer his phone. I’m watching a CGI chimp sing a heartfelt ballad to his dead human grandmother, and I’m not thinking about the effects at all. It’s magic, I tell you. It’s fucking magic.
The film closes with Williams singing “My Way” with his estranged dad (Steve Pemberton) in a gorgeous auditorium. The scene is beautifully staged but also smart enough to avoid playing as a full-on happy ending. Earlier in the film, Williams meets his songwriting partner, Guy Chambers (Tom Budge), who pushes Williams to dig deeper. To be more than a catchy creator of top 40 ditties. Chambers states, “Songs are only valuable if they cost you something.” Williams was willing to pay the cost. And because he was, we now have the looniest, bravest, and most confoundingly wonderful film of the year. A film that gets away with the lead character telling us if you don’t believe I’m the best in the business, to go “Fuck yourselves.”
2024 has hit us with three genuinely bold musicals. The three-plus hour adaptation of Broadway’s Wicked. The Mexican cartel / break-into-song drama Emilia Perez. And just now, fashionably and suitably late to the party, comes Better Man. The ego has finally landed.
The pedigree of Wicked and Emilia Perez, the critical huzzahs and hosannas, and the many awards both are likely to receive when the envelopes are opened on Oscar night notwithstanding; I am here to tell you that Better Man is a better musical than either of them.
“Fuck yourselves” if you don’t believe me.
