BETTER MAN - Mark Reviews Movies

Better Man, Paramount Pictures

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Review by Mark Dujsik | December 24, 2024

One distinct element of a standard formula can change a lot about a story, and Better Man has a doozy of a distinction from the typical music biography. It's the story of the early career of internationally famous singer Robbie Williams, and it follows what is, at this point, the standard trajectory—the rise to fame, the fall due to assorted personal issues, the inevitable comeback from it all. The difference here is that Williams is not directly played by an actor. His character isn't even human in this story. Instead, he's represented by a computer-generated chimpanzee.

That may sound silly. In fact, it is pretty ridiculous. One initially wonders why co-writer/director Michael Gracey would give himself such a seemingly unnecessary obstacle to the storytelling here, beyond the obvious one that the story itself is so familiar, while taking on the form of a jukebox musical to boot.

Sure, Williams, providing his own voice for the film, says that this is the way he sees himself, especially during those early days of rising success and genuine celebrity, when his instincts onstage and off were more animal-like than, in his mind, human. It's all about chasing some goal, showing off in front of an audience, getting drunk and high whenever there isn't a show happening, figuring out how to obtain sweet revenge on everyone who doubted him, and moving forward through and with all of it on an almost primal level of wanting to be noticed.

The idea is theoretically sound, to be sure, but in the first few minutes of seeing a young Robbie as a chimp, those doubts remain. Then, something strange happens. We buy the ape, not only as a convincing piece of visual-effects wizardry, but also as a sad, lonely child who grows up to become an insecure, self-destructive adult. Actors also could have pulled this off, of course, and without the unavoidable oddity at the center of this material. Something about the challenge of the portrayal of the story's main character, though, seems to have pushed Gracey to really sell everything else about this film, as well.

Whatever that thing may be, it worked. The ape surprisingly works here, too, both as the kind of character Williams announces his younger self to be at the start and as a sympathetic figure in the kind of story that has been told so many times that making an audience connect to it seems like its own kind of challenge. One doesn't expect to be moved by the story of a famous musician dealing with the pitfalls of fame, if only because it's a story as old as fame itself, and one definitely doesn't anticipate being moved when that musician takes the form of a chimpanzee. This film is ultimately affecting, though, because the filmmakers treat it with so much sincerity.

It's also a propulsive kind of film, which barely stops to explain when or where things or happening and why it matters, beyond being that next step for Robbie's goal to become the most famous singer in the world. We meet a young Robbie (voiced by Jonno Davies, who also does the motion-capture performance for the ape character), living in Stoke-on-Trent with his mother Janet (Kate Mulvany), grandmother Betty (Alison Steadman), and, for the moment, father Peter (Steve Pemberton).

His mother tries to keep the boy responsible. The grandmother consoles the sad kid and lets him be himself without judgment, and the father teaches him the showmanship of all the great crooners Peter worships. That is until dad decides to chase his own show-business dream and leave his family behind. Robbie basically starts chasing his father, hoping to become famous, not only for himself, but also so that his dad might finally notice and appreciate him.

Fame begins after Robbie attends an open audition for members of a new boy band, and a cheeky little wink is enough to make him stand out from the crowd, becoming the "bad boy"—at the age of 16, literally the latter part of that description—of Take That. The story from there becomes a rush of real or perceived slights and betrayals, Robbie starting a solo career, booze and cocaine and anything else that might help him overcome those demons (which he hears and sees, as darker versions of himself, at his lowest points) at any given moment, and seemingly becoming too famous for anyone to ignore.

There are plenty of insider jokes, such as Williams' narration being somewhat diplomatic out of concern for lawsuits, and anecdotes, such as the offhanded way he starts a feud with the brothers at the center of Oasis, and those elements fuel the momentum and tone here, as well. It feels like watching the British music scene of the 1990s and early 2000s as a circus, in which the performing ape is both the center-ring entertainment and the ringmaster.

The music, a collection of Williams' own tunes, is a huge help, too, especially when Gracey puts them to such energetic use in the stage performances and some extravagant song-and-dance numbers. Of the second category, one free-wheeling faux one-take through the streets and shops of London stands out as a technical feat and reflection of the egotistical nature of stardom.

The film is more than a semi-subversive and spirited pop musical, however. Better Man takes Robbie's difficult relationship with his father, his substance abuse, and his mental health issues seriously. We may be watching a digital chimpanzee go through the motions of a musical biography of a musician, but the central visual effect and the screenplay's genuine understanding of the main character make that ape feel real, both on the surface and beneath it.

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