"My life has appeared before my eyes like the execution of a tightrope act without a safety harness," Williams recounted. "I know I can fall at any moment, and I often do. When Michael suggested having me portrayed by a monkey, I sensed the audacity of the choice, but at the same time, I understood we had to follow his vision."

The decision to depict Robbie Williams as a monkey in the film Better Man, a biopic directed by Michael Gracey, is both symbolic and original. Robbie Williams himself approved of this artistic choice, which offers an unconventional way of narrating his story.

The monkey could be seen as a metaphor for several reasons:

Expression of emotional complexity: Monkeys are intelligent, lively, and unpredictable creatures, traits that reflect Robbie Williams’ energy, humor, and personal challenges, including his relationship with fame, creativity, and vulnerability.

Breaking conventions: Robbie Williams is known for his unorthodox style and his ability to defy norms. The portrayal of him as a monkey aligns with his provocative spirit and his desire to offer something unique and new to his fans.

Symbol of human behavior: Monkeys are often used in art and literature to represent exaggerated or satirical human behaviors. This could emphasize the theatrical and self-deprecating aspects of his personality.

Better Man, directed by Michael Gracey, emerges as a cinematic work grappling with the paradox of being and appearing, opting for a bold and provocative narrative trajectory. It is not merely a biopic about Robbie Williams but an artistic meditation on identity, human fragility, and the dialectical relationship between freedom and façade.

The choice to represent Williams through the image of a monkey, a primordial and archetypal symbol, introduces a profound reflection on the human condition. The monkey, as a liminal figure, is simultaneously close to humanity and distant from it—a distorted reflection that challenges our certainties about authenticity. This portrayal seems to suggest that humans, in their relentless search for meaning, remain prisoners of instincts, impulses, and vulnerabilities, much like the animal that resides in their subconscious.

Gracey constructs a visual language that elevates this existential tension: dreamlike and surreal sequences, interwoven with moments of stark realism, become an initiatory journey revealing the fragmented soul of the protagonist. Music, an essential element in Williams’ life, is not merely an expressive medium but the battlefield where his transcendent aspirations clash with his descents into the abyss.

While Robbie Williams is present through his authentic voice, he relinquishes his image to the metaphor: the human face is replaced by an animal one, almost to denounce the impossibility of representing the essence of the individual without betraying it. This choice fits within an existential tradition viewing the individual, cast into the world, as compelled to perform roles imposed by circumstances, alienated from both society and themselves.

Better Man positions itself as a transcendental experience, a reflection on humanity's role in the grand theater of the absurd. Williams, like the monkey representing him, embodies a humanity dancing on the thin line between greatness and the abyss, freedom and determinism, joy and despair.

Ultimately, Better Man is not a comforting portrait of an artist but a raw and unsettling meditation on the human condition. Its experimental vision, much like Robbie Williams’ music, dares to push beyond conventional boundaries to touch the deepest chords of the human soul.

Who is Robbie Williams, beyond being Robert—the bullied child, abandoned by a father who indoctrinated him into fame, supported by a mother, accompanied by depression, and unconditionally loved by a grandmother?

An incorrigible egotist, an irreverent provocateur, a fragile soul disguised as a showman perpetually at the mercy of substances, including drugs and alcohol? The narrative doesn’t aim to confirm the singer's public image but delves into the depths of his experiences, showing not who he was for others but how he perceived himself: a man in perpetual struggle with his own sense of inadequacy, even when the world applauded him as a star.

Robbie does not manifest through a human face but through the otherness of a monkey—an image stripping identity of social constructs. This visual device conceals a universal question: what does it mean to be authentic? The monkey is humanity's shadow, its primordial self, the rejected child struggling to surface. It symbolizes the conflict between being and appearing, between the desire to belong and the awareness of one's isolation.

The film does not follow a chronological order but builds on emotional connections: each song becomes a reflection of an existential moment, the musical commentary of an inner chapter. When Feel echoes, one senses the pain of an empty soul, the “hole in being” that even fame cannot fill. It is no coincidence that the greatest pop stars are born from an original void: for Robbie, this void coincides with the absence of a father—a presence looming in memory but distant in reality.

Yet, his rise is not shaped solely by suffering. His meeting with Guy Chambers marks a turning point: writing songs that cost something, that delve deep, is the only way to transform pain into art. This is the essence of Williams’ creative genius: not hiding fragility but displaying it as an act of resistance and human connection.

A series of contrasts unfolds: Take That dancing in the street while Rock DJ plays in the background represents an explosion of energy and freedom, but also the beginning of a journey that would separate Robbie from the group. It celebrates the transience of bonds and the passage from the innocence of beginnings to the complexity of adult individuality.

The film embraces a dreamlike and symbolic aesthetic, at times bordering on horror: the monkey, with its sweet and melancholic gaze, becomes the authentic face of a man torn between glory and the abyss, between the desire to be loved and the awareness of his vulnerability. He frequently confronts his alter egos, which remind him of his inadequacies, insecurities, and the looming threat of failure.

In Better Man, Robbie Williams reveals himself as a stage gladiator—a performer who transforms suffering into spectacle. "I’m a bloody entertainer," he proclaims, and in these words lies the full ambiguity of his being: the mask that protects but also the weapon that exposes him to the world.

Come and hold my hand

I wanna contact the living

Not sure I understand

This role I’ve been given…

I don’t wanna die

But I ain’t keen on living either

Before I fall in love

I’m preparing to leave her

Scared myself to death

That’s why I keep on running

Before I’ve arrived

I can see myself coming…

Come and hold my hand

I wanna contact the living

Not sure I understand

This role I’ve been given

Not sure I understand

Not sure I understand

Not sure I understand

Not sure I understand

(Feel)

06-Dec-2024 by Beatrice