In the final episode of Robbie Williams, the British singer's self-titled docuseries, a reunited Take That perform The Flood live. The song, cheesy and unabashedly aiming for anthem status (spoiler: it wasn't and still isn't), exudes an exaggerated yet undeniable power on stage. Despite its inherent ridiculousness, The Flood remains one of my all-time favorites. Just like the gig that Robbie Williams played, just 20 years ago now, at the Palacio de Vistalegre in Madrid was one of the concerts of my life. I belong to the Robbie generation, and that's why I'm writing this review. While the retrospective series on the artist's career might not garner critical acclaim, my personal fondness for The Flood predisposes me to enjoy it.
However, in the UK, Robbie Williams' Netflix series has been savagely vilified by some media outlets. It echoes a narrative highlighted in the series itself: some Britons haven't forgiven Williams for leaving Take That, the boy band that propelled him to stardom. Admittedly, Williams didn't do much to earn that forgiveness, but it seems rather childish to hold onto a grudge from 1995. The series doesn't delve too deeply into the reasons behind the split but emphasizes Williams' deteriorating health at the time.
In the docuseries, we see Robbie Williams in his underwear looking back at videos taken throughout his career. The star appears vulnerable yet in control. He's never been one for modesty (not even when his social media antics raised eyebrows), and us fans, including myself, choose to believe. We're not naive; we understand that a pop icon is constructed through artifice, and what truly matters is the narrative. Robbie Williams' story is more about acceptance than self-improvement. "I see myself as authentic," he says, watching footage of himself in his thirties babbling to the camera.
The format feels like a mix of "Robbie Williams reacts to Robbie Williams" and a found footage-style, chronicling two of his most talked-about relationships, with Nicole Appleton of All Saints and later Geri Halliwell, the Spice Girls' leading lady and his female counterpart. Both left successful groups to pursue solo careers, but Halliwell seemed to handle it better. For us '90s enthusiasts (like myself), seeing them vacation together in Mallorca feels iconic and endearing. They are two weathered celebrities, two legends, and two broken toys. I missed Robbie Williams' last concert in Barcelona, but perhaps that's for the best. I imagine it was filled with nostalgic forty-somethings who still recognize him as the star he once was. What a scene. I'm happy enough with playing The Flood and Rudebox on repeat in my headphones while I go for a run, like the middle-aged man I am.