You know what they say: when in doubt, add a monkey. The producers of Better Man, the new biopic on Robbie Williams, certainly took that often parodied advice to its most literal form, supplanting the famous British pop star with an anthropomorphized CGI ape. Yes, you read that correctly, for nearly 150 minutes, which includes his time as a little boy growing up in Stoke to his later days topping the charts, Williams ditches our flesh and blood for the fur of a primate. 

One may think that that's enough of a gimmick to differentiate this film from any of the multitude of musician biopics we've gotten over the years. Unfortunately, you'd be wrong, although I will say that the sight of an anthropomorphized monkey doing cocaine and getting a handjob at a club does go a long way in making this a unique experience.

Blame it on my American DNA as to why I was fully unfamiliar with Robbie Williams before Paramount Pictures scheduled this for a Christmas Day release. "Don't you have to be famous to get a $100 million biopic made about you?" I asked as I read the headlines. It turns out that level of blindness is something that almost all North Americans suffer from, something we might need a university study on considering that British stars have invaded the American music landscape on several occasions before. A quick scan of Williams' extensive Wikipedia page opened my eyes, and a few ventures down the Spotify rabbit hole attuned my ears.

For once, I was going into a biopic having not already known the complete story of the titular subject. You can only so much engagement with a journey where you know every sight along the way, and exactly when you'll see them. So, what did I learn about Robbie Williams after sitting through Better Man? Well, not much that the Wikipedia page couldn't have told me, or any other musician biopic has already given me the impression of. At some point, I have to ask: How special are these singers if they all have the same life story?

Young Robbie is constantly picked on at school, always chosen last on the playground, and being told he's a freak. But it's not because he's a monkey, as no other character seems to notice that they're interacting with an extra out of the Planet of the Apes films. His life at home isn't much better, as his father has just left the family after determining that his wife and child were holding back his chances of being famous. Along with his mother and grandmother, Robbie still has his Sinatra records in his corner, and they're enough to help him realize his destiny as a singer. Fame comes quicker than he thought in the form of Take That, Britain's most sensational '90s boy band. From there it's the usual rapid rise and fall filled with sex, drugs, and pop music. 

Williams' explanation for his appearance as a monkey, which Paramount was pragmatic enough to use in the film's first trailer and create a whole featurette around, is that he's always seen himself as a little less evolved than everyone around him. He's been a trained monkey since his teenage years, both on the stage and in the tabloids. The effect isn't as jarring as you would expect, most likely due to the fact that we've become accustomed to seeing human and CGI apes sharing the screen in the recent Planet of the Apes films. The same WETA visual engineers from that series worked on this film, and the results are full of the same vibrancy and expressiveness. Jonno Davies dons the motion-capture suit for the majority of the runtime, with Williams voicing the role near the adult years.

It's a concept that's all well and good on paper, and even a few times in execution. But as the central conceit that distances the project from being just another genre copycat, it's too thin. Every person who gets a biopic made about them feels that they're different than everyone else, so seeing it literalized is putting a hat on a hat.

What often breaks this film free from its formulaic trappings is director Michael Gracey's desire to claim the titular title that he bestowed upon Hugh Jackman's P.T. Barnum in his directorial debut, The Greatest Showman. Just as you'll never see him in public without his trademarked beanie (seriously, see how long you have to scroll through Google Images until you see him without it), you'll also never catch one of his scenes lacking in energy. I can bemoan the problematic nature of The Greatest Showman all I want, but I'll never deny that it wasn't extremely entertaining to watch. That same vibe runs through every moment of Better Man, the doldrums of a cliched story perpetually being papered over by visual splendor.

“Rock DJ” blasts from every window as Take That celebrates their success with a flash mob dance in the streets, the whole thing captured in one (very digital) take. And “She’s the One” serenades Williams and Nicole Appleton as they seal their love. As someone who didn’t know anything about Williams and was ready for another boring biopic, I walked away from Better Man with quite a few of his songs in my Spotify playlist and a higher-than-expected urge to see it again.