How new Robbie Williams biopic Better Man exposes the terror of fame – by turning its hero into a CGI chimpanzee

A new film about the tumultuous career of British boy band sensation turned solo star Robbie Williams depicts him as a monkey. Directed by the creator of The Greatest Showman, it’s a revealing look at the ups and downs of pop stardom.

Fame is an inexorably potent force in pop culture. Its pulsating allure—and its bone-crushing pitfalls—has continually inspired songs, from Bowie to Billie Eilish, and driven films from technicolor romance to gritty life stories and psychological horror. Better Man, a new big-budget biopic of British boy band sensation turned solo artist Robbie Williams, offers a first-hand look at the circus of fame with an unusual twist: its leading star is portrayed as a CGI chimpanzee (played by actor Jonno Davies), using of motion-capture VFX). Williams is not a household name everywhere – as he is in Britain – but nevertheless the film provides a fascinating insight into stardom either way. For Australian director Michael Gracey (The Greatest Showman), this deeply surreal scenario remains natural territory: “Ultimately, the film seeks to tell the story I’m always chasing: the pursuit of an impossible dream,” he says in the film’s production notes.

For Williams, there is a characteristic snap logic in his cinematic persona. “There is a surrender to the machinery of industry that requires you to be a robot or a monkey,” he also explains in the production notes. “I chose to be a monkey.”

Better Man introduces us, via Williams’ signature tune Let Me Entertain You, to a born performer (“I came out of the womb with jazz hands – which was very painful for my mother,” Williams’s narrative voiceover jokes). There’s obviously something different about young Robert, but the CGI is so stunningly expressive that it also feels entirely plausible that this wide-eyed boy chimpanzee is immersed in a human world: he goes to Sinatra with his father (Steve Pemberton) and listens to stories from his grandmother (a wonderfully cuddly Alison Steadman). William’s drive for stardom is evident, but so is his deep-seated self-doubt and fear of being a “nobody.”

The start of the 1990s brings an important change; at 16, Williams was the youngest member of Take That: a Manchester pop quintet created by manager Nigel Martin-Smith following the massive success of Stateside heartthrob New Kids On The Block. Take That wasn’t an overnight smash; the film depicts their chaotic beginnings (with Williams’ voiceover noting that each member earned £180 each in the first 18 months) – but the band grafted on to become a genuine phenomenon, dominating the charts and many teenage dreams, with Williams’ lovable sassy persona fronts their breakthrough hits.

Better Man serves up choreographed sets that mix British pop culture minutiae with Busby Berkeley-style extravaganza; a euphoric group performance of Williams’ track Rock DJ captures the way pop stardom can feel superhuman. However, we are quickly reminded of its precariousness via William’s dizzying descents into self-destruction and depression, and his departure from Take That. Every time he appears on stage, he sees demon doppelgangers glaring back at him in the crowds – a terror that is amplified even as he establishes a record-breaking solo career.

Williams has always been honest about his mistakes and struggles with addiction and excess – it’s as if he can’t stop picking at his scars, via lyrics, soundbites or documentaries, including the tour film Nobody Someday (2002) and a Netflix series ( 2023), as well as several books by his official biographer, Chris Heath. Yet there is something particularly visceral about Better Man’s dramatization; Williams’ ape form adds to the florid weirdness of his music industry experiences – and also takes the brutal edge off some of the darkest points in his story. The film never adopts a smooth “jukebox musical” approach where hit songs are shoehorned into the narrative; instead, Better Man’s soundtrack recreates several of Robbie’s greatest songs (Feel, sung by his childhood self; Come Undone; She’s The One, reimagined as a duet as he falls in love with pop star Nicole Appleton), in a way that feels revelatory . Robbie has always been an extravagant showman, but a sense of intimacy – whether it’s his longing for affection and acceptance or his pointed self-criticism – seems surprisingly heightened here.

Williams is an undeniably magnetic presence, on screen or in the flesh. I have met him personally on two occasions; I first interned at UK pop magazine Smash Hits in the early 90s, when Williams popped into the office with his Take That bandmate Jason Orange. They looked at me questioningly; I was a teenage girl, their target demographic. I was dazzled by their sexy aura of fame and was too shy to do anything but stare back.

A few decades later there was a more chatty meeting; I interviewed Williams for Metro newspaper, where I was music editor. He released his ninth album, Take The Crown, and he was still restlessly ambitious. “I’m obsessed with pop music, being a pop star, being successful, not being a have-been,” he told me. He talked about the search for the perfect pop song and described obsessing over negative YouTube comments, even though they were vastly outweighed by positive posts.

Better Man is not just a Robbie Williams biopic. It’s a snapshot of the 1990s: a period when the music business boomed and the phenomenon of fame rose to a feverish crescendo. Pop culture was arguably never the same again. Bandleaders might have been visionaries, but they also often ruthlessly directed and controlled every aspect of young artists’ lives, from their punishing work schedules to their diets and personal relationships.

Music consultant, manager and writer Alex Kadis was a former editor of Smash Hits and worked closely with members of Take That for years. “The managers were very competitive with each other – which made bands and fan bases competitive,” she tells the BBC. “I think that’s part of the intensity of the ’90s. And I think that’s the first time I really became aware of emotional marketing; suddenly there was a sense that artists could have a deep connection with their audience – they weren’t just connecting to a product, but themselves as people.”

This can prove to be a rough exchange. As a young journalist I interviewed the infamous pop Svengali Tom Watkins (who had managed the boy bands Bros and East 17, as well as the Pet Shop Boys); he was both fascinating and utterly formidable. “We sell sex,” Watkins barked.

Given the sacrifices associated with fame – the loss of privacy and autonomy; the culture shock when artists suddenly find themselves outside of a band’s bubble – the messy meltdowns depicted in Better Man seem pretty inevitable. Kadis remembers when Williams left Take That in 1995. “At the time he was like a man suffering from PTSD,” she says. “He wasn’t sleeping; he started doing a lot of drugs; he didn’t know who he was anymore. I think the ’90s bled those pop stars out. They had to keep feeding their audience and playing a character.”

Kadis compares the trajectory of pop fame to a runaway train (“It really depends on which wagon you got to jump on a little bit”). For all its thrilling heights, the route is also distinctly traumatic; the The tragic death of Liam Payne earlier this year is yet another indictment of the pressures young artists are expected to endure. Williams recently appeared on a BBC series, Boybands Forever, where he spoke some home truths: “Nobody goes through that level of fame and comes out completely sane”. Notably, the end credits on Better Man include a reference to the 988 Lifeline Suicide and Crisis support service.

Better Man’s narrative blasts through many classic elements: A Star Is Born-style ambitious adventure; a nightmarish descent; a father-son bonding story. Ultimately, it’s also a redemption tale that ends in the early 21st century, though anyone who’s followed Williams’ career—or the music industry as a whole—knows that the show is far from over. When I interviewed Williams, I asked him what superpower his pop fame had given him: “To get on stage, face your fear and the responsibility of having everyone rely on you for their livelihood. Hats off to me ,” he replied. laughing. “Because it’s scary and exciting.”

Better Man is released in the UK and Australia on December 26th and has a limited release in the US on December 25th.