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Review

BETTER MAN. A Monkey on Stage [REVIEW]

In Better Man, it’s easy to believe when Williams says he sees himself through the figure of the monkey.

Tomasz Raczkowski

25 January 2025

Who is Robbie Williams? As the backlash surrounding the promotion of a biographical film about him has shown, America doesn’t seem to know. The rest of the global market is somewhat more familiar, but outside of the British Isles, few can truly grasp just how massive a star the singer was at the turn of the millennium. A boy from northern England who started as a cheeky troublemaker in a boy band (one of the most popular of its time, by the way) managed in just a few years not only to dominate the charts but to become a respected pop artist. Now, with his star shining far less brightly than it once did, a high-budget biopic about Robert from Stoke-upon-Trent’s career feels like a marketing stunt—a bold attempt to ride the wave of Bohemian Rhapsody and Rocketman, gain traction, and squeeze a few more pounds (rather than dollars) out of former glory. Yet even from afar—judging by the monkey mask glaring at us from posters and trailers—Better Man tries to stand out with something more creative than the usual formulaic music biopic playbook. Because Better Man isn’t just about capitalizing on the musician’s fame; it aims to answer a deeper question: Who is Robbie Williams?

a better man

Let’s start with the elephant—or rather, the monkey—in the room. To those somewhat familiar with Williams’ work, this visual trick might ring a bell. In the song Me and My Monkey, the monkey symbolized addiction, an embodiment of the darker side of fame. Though the track isn’t featured in Better Man (a missed opportunity), the monkey returns as a metaphorical identity through which Williams grapples with his demons and the burden of a dizzying career. This metaphor is explicitly explained before the film by none other than Williams himself, who clarifies that the idea behind Better Man was to present himself as he truly sees himself—awkward, imperfect, and out of place.

Coming from someone with a slew of gold and platinum records, is this false humility, irony, or provocation? That’s yet another question posed by Williams and the director of his life story, Michael Gracey.

Beyond the monkey metaphor, the narrative structure of Better Man doesn’t break new ground. The story begins in the rather bleak, working-class neighborhood of Stoke-on-Trent, where a young Robert Williams, sitting in front of the TV with his grandmother and inspired by his father’s dreams of a showbiz career, dreams of becoming someone himself. The opportunity comes in the form of a casting call for a new boy band, which changes the trajectory of the otherwise not-so-gifted Robert’s life. Leveraging his one perceived asset—his cheeky audacity—he secures a spot as the “fifth wheel” of Take That. From performing in gay clubs, he quickly rises to national fame as Robbie.

Then, following the classic arc of such tales, we see his derailment—leaving Take That, ambitiously attempting to launch a solo career, experiencing a mix of triumphs and failures, all culminating in the monumental 2003 Knebworth concert, the ultimate test and triumph.

Throughout this journey, Jonno Davies portrays Williams, “dressed” in a CGI motion-capture chimpanzee costume amidst human characters. Williams himself occasionally chimes in as the narrator, guiding the story through its twists and turns. This helps, as Gracey doesn’t spend much time on precise timelines. Instead, Better Man is more of a loose montage of scenes from Williams’ life, often transitioning into musical numbers (set, of course, to the Englishman’s hits) rather than a coherent chronological biography. But the creators don’t pretend otherwise.

a better man

The goal isn’t to craft a polished myth of a talented individual’s rise to fame. Instead, Better Man delves into Williams’ struggle with himself—both doubting and believing in his own uniqueness. At every stage, the sinister grimaces of his earlier selves haunt him, reminding him of his insecurities and perceived lack of talent. His successes are undercut by worsening depression and escalating addictions, while the public persona of the “bad boy” named Robbie serves as a shield for the suffering Robert.

The monkey motif is particularly effective here, emphasizing Williams’ sense of alienation and his transformation into a spectacle in pursuit of a childhood dream.

Visually and emotionally, Better Man is compelling. The film is the cinematic equivalent of a well-crafted pop song—it doesn’t strive for innovation, occasionally winks at the audience, meets the expectations of a celebrity biography, and does so with professional finesse. The individual sequences are expertly constructed (a standout being a poignant scene where Robbie, in a weight-loss suit, has a bitter conversation with a childhood friend), and the main character—despite the CGI mask—is convincingly authentic.

In fact, the work of both the effects team and Jonno Davies deserves praise, reaching a level comparable to the recent Planet of the Apes films (a fact recognized by Better Man’s recent Oscar nomination for this element). With such a protagonist, Gracey crafts an effective musical drama where Williams’ on-screen confession resonates truthfully. Even if it’s entirely his creation, it doesn’t feel like an egotistical vanity project—instead, it invites us to look behind the showman’s mask.

While Better Man may superficially follow the classic formula of a musical biopic, it is, above all, Robbie Williams’ reckoning with himself.

Does the film end on a note of “I’m damn good at what I do”? Yes. But that doesn’t diminish the value of the journey. On the contrary, it feels authentically moving after watching the hapless monkey-Williams try not to self-destruct.

a better man

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of Better Man is its message. Williams’ portrait of fame, while far from tragic, carries a bittersweet conclusion: Be careful what you wish for—because to become someone, you often have to hate the masquerade that comes with it.

Williams, ever self-aware, admits that he’s essentially doing the only thing he could think of as a kid and the only thing he wasn’t completely incompetent at. Sure, there’s an element of artistic posturing, and his self-directed jokes and irony have long been a part of his image-building strategy. But in Better Man, it’s easy to believe him when he says he sees himself through the figure of the monkey—and that what he shares about himself is, at the very least, honest enough.

Tomasz Raczkowski

Tomasz Raczkowski

Anthropologist, critic, enthusiast of social cinema, British humor and horror films.

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