Unfinished monkey business: Robbie Williams explains himself

“THE FACE is, and was, the coolest, most credible magazine that existed – to pop people.”

He means especially to pop people, but we’ll forgive Robbie Williams the glancing word slippage. He’s sharply-suited in a tobacco-brown, double-breasted two-piece by Caruso, and shod for speed in cheetah-print slip-ons. But the musician is operating on two hours’ kip, he’s been ​“fucking everywhere” in the last few days and right now, the hour of our evening appointment in a sleepy suite in a central London hotel, it’s Drowsy O’Clock.

We’ll also forgive Robbie because, well, his two historic FACE covers – October 1995 and January 1999, the former the second-best-selling issue of the magazine ever (beaten only by Spice Girls, March 1997) – were a lifetime ago. Also a nervous breakdown, some rehabs, some comebacks, three Knebworths and, judging by his gleaming gnashers, a set of teeth ago, too.

Robbie has been everywhere because he’s promoting Better Man. The film is the story of his Mad Pop Star Life, the ups, the downs, the dizzier ups and the deeper, very much darker downs. In that regard, it’s a trad biopic. In another, crucial regard, it’s unlike any life story of any famous person that was ever committed to screen.

Because Robbie Williams is played by a monkey.

That is: Robbie is played by himself and by actors, all of whom are turned into CGI monkeys, and no one at any point in the film says anything about that. As a nine-year-old growing up in Stoke-on-Trent, getting a bath off his nan (played by Alison Steadman), he’s a cute wee chimp with bubble-bath on his nose. As the 15-year-old who auditions for Take That, he’s a rangy ape-teen with bubble-perm on his head. As the 21-year-old Robbie who rocks up to Glastonbury ​’95 with bleach-blond hair, red Adidas zip-up, missing tooth and a mission to do coke with Oasis (spoiler alert: he succeeds), he’s a Britpop-era baboon in exactly all that clobber.

Why a monkey? Simple. Because Robbie – a 50-year-old with a skip-full of neuroses and dysfunctions and daddy issues and cheery, knowing acceptance thereof – always saw himself as a performing monkey.

The film is a musical, too, directed by Michael Gracey – who made blockbuster circus flick The Greatest Showman – at breakneck, all-singing, all-dancing, all-the-feels pace. Which gives the film the vibes at times of, yes, a simian mobile disco.

It’s also brilliant. You might go into the cinema with your face set to cringe, or even grimace. But it’ll soon be blasted into grin by the sheer, exuberant force and style of the storytelling. Even if you’re a Robbie hater, you’ll likely come away with a touch more empathy for an only-child northern lad from a broken home who wanted pop fame so badly it messed him up.

So, as former FACE editor Sheryl Garratt did in 1995 (starting her reporting just after that Glasto) and as did, three years later, with onetime FACE stalwart Chris Heath (who went on to become Robbie’s amanuensis of choice for his two (so far) memoirs), we come to praise Robbie, not to bury him. And Robbie, just as he did in ​’95, when he gave this magazine his first post-Take That interview, reciprocates the love.

That first interview, he says, stroking Norman Watson’s striking cover image on the copy that I’ve brought along, ​“was incredibly meaningful. I don’t know if the likes of this had been seen before: ​‘Pop person goes on the most credible magazine front cover.’ To be noticed and to be given this space…” Robbie recalls, tailing off, wistfully. Then he picks up the second cover, its aggy image shot by Jean-Baptiste Mondino, the uncompromising vibe underpinned by the ​“Want Some?” coverline. ​“It’s saying: ​‘I’m hard.’ And oh, look, with the fake blood coming out of his nose, he’s obviously been having a fight, or he’s done too much coke. It was very gratifying. And pivotal.”

Speaking of pivotal covers, here’s our most recent one, starring Chappell Roan…

You know what’s amazing? She wasn’t famous, and then was, like pretty quickly. And she noticed very quickly that when you’re famous, dumb, weird shit happens. And it’s not OK. That’s exactly what she said! ​“This stuff’s happening and it’s not OK.” I’m like, yeah, exactly!

The difference being that Chappell, almost instantaneously, had the agency to say that. Whereas back in your day…

No agency!

Exactly. Which is one of the salutary messages of Better Man. So: we’ve heard that the backstory to this cinematic life-story involves a lawyer, and you in your dressing-gown sending a video message to Hugh Jackman…

OK. My wife’s best mate from growing up, Casey, her father is Michael Gracey’s lawyer. So I already knew Michael, from going round to Casey’s dad’s house, hanging out, Michael being there and getting on with him really well. Then he emails or calls me: ​“Can I come round? I need to ask you a favour.” ​“Yeah, mate.”

Comes around. Sits down. He goes: ​“I’m doing this film. It’s called The Greatest Showman.” And instantly in my head I’m like: ​“He’s gonna ask me to be the lead, isn’t he? Because I am that. That’s what I am, right? The greatest showman.”

So he shows me the storyboards. Plays me a few songs. And I’m thinking: ​“Oh, God, this is probably my break in Hollywood. These songs are fucking brilliant. The answer is yes!” Then he goes: ​“Here’s the favour… Will you convince Hugh Jackman to do the film?”

Ah. I’m crestfallen. But I say: ​“Er, yeah, I’ll do that.” So I sent Hugh a video message imploring him to do the film. And if he didn’t, I would bludgeon him to death with a tea cup to get the role.

How did the idea for a biopic begin?

I think Michael was kicking the tyres: ​“Maybe there’s a film…” He’d say a story, then I’d say a story, and he liked how I said stories. He was like: ​“Record these stories, and maybe we just see what happens.” And then, all this happened.

How involved were you with the script-writing process?

I spoke for 12 hours [to the screenwriters]. There’s bits in the film where I cringe at my jokes or what I say. I was like: ​“I don’t like that.” ​“But you actually said that.” ​“What about that?” ​“Yeah, you actually said that, too.” So loads of the script are my actual words. A lot of the narration, a lot of what the monkey says, are things that I’ve said and thought. But I was never in the room when the script was written.

Did you have approval?

I guess so, but I didn’t need it… I know how other biographies have started off, and I know where they’ve ended up: sanitised versions of what was once a fucking incredible script. With me, I haven’t taken anything out. It’s: whatever’s good.

So it was important that the highs were as high as they really were, and the lows were as grubby and shitty as they actually were, too?

Yeah. And the film does a good job at both. I’m sure you’ve had your relationship with going out and staying up late. And you visit hell. And I’ve been to hell.

Indeed. The first time I interviewed you, in 2010, you told me who first gave you cocaine. But we were talking in connection with your track Morning Sun being the official song for Sport Relief. So it wasn’t really an appropriate context to put that in the piece. Anyway, it was the late New Romantic icon, Steve Strange – although even afterwards, I never thought I could reveal that while he was alive…

Well, you can write it here! Yeah, he used to do a night at a small club called The Bank in Kensington. I was in Take That, and the band’s hotel was right opposite this club. I went over one night and he said: ​“Did you want a line of coke?” I’m like: ​“Yeah.” Then he passes me a note, and I’m like: ​“What do I do with this?” He looked at me as if I was pretending that I’d never done coke before. And… off I went. I was 17, 18.

Was it immediately pleasurable?

No, it was really terrible coke, I’ve since come to realise. But it didn’t stop me having another go at it [that night]. And I eventually found decent cocaine…

…and the rest is misery!

And the rest is misery! Exactly!

The monkey: how much persuading did you take on that?

Michael said: ​“What’s your spirit animal.” I was trying to find some self-esteem for myself – which we all are, all the time – so at that particular time, I go: ​“I’m a lion.” Michael made a face. So I go: ​“Monkey?” And he went: ​“Yeah, OK, here’s the idea…”

And before the end of the sentence, I was in. Then I went to tell the Minister of Finance, the wife. Actually, The Minister of Finance & What’s Actually Happening In My Life. ​“Great idea, babe! I’m gonna be a monkey!” And Ayda was like: ​“What the fuck?” That was the first time that I encountered the ​“Eh? What?” response to the idea.

But it’s just a fucking incredible idea. And without the monkey, there wouldn’t be as much talk about the film. And then, for whatever reason, it works. But I find it confusing that people, without seeing the film, have found the idea confusing. It’s interesting that not everybody thinks like me, ha ha!

In November 2022 I was at your Royal Albert Hall gig that was shot for the film, as a recreation of your 2001 Swing When You’re Winning orchestral show. Like a muppet, I neglected to read the small print on the ticket that said: ​“Dress, black tie.” I cycled there, so I was wearing cycling gear while everybody around me was rattling their jewellery…

Did you see yourself in the film?

No, I was slunk low in my seat, hiding from the cameras, mortified. But that’s not the point of the story. The point is: how was that performance blended into the movie?

I don’t know. I don’t know which bits are me, which bits are not me.

So is some of the physicality of Jonno Davies, the actor who plays adult Robbie, actually you with a monkey CGI’d on your head?

Yeah! But broadly I do not know [where]. And I just want to let the magic of the movie do its thing. Also: Jonno’s got a great arse and great legs; the bottom of his torso is much better than mine. So I’d much rather believe that that’s all me, that that’s my actual body, than be told, no, it’s all Jonno.

Because some of his dance moves are spot-on.

Yeah, I know. There are bits in the Knebworth sequence where I’m like: ​“Did you just take the footage of me and then put it in?” ​“No, that’s Jonno.” ​“Wow.” Wow.

The attention to detail, not just from him but the costuming and everything, is fantastic. The monkey wears the red Adidas top from Glastonbury, he’s got the same bleach blonde hair as you, the missing tooth… How important was it to you that they got the different iterations of you at every stage absolutely correct?

It would be important to me if they didn’t! I’m very, very happy with what I’ve seen. The Stoke accent is very difficult to do. And the kids at the beginning of the film, I can tell one of them’s from Nottingham, and one of them’s from Derby. Instantly people from Stoke are going to go: [grumble] ​“He’s from fucking Nottingham!” But they don’t know that in Alabama. They don’t know that in Serbia! But for the people of Stoke, that’s going to be interesting. It’s only those little things that take me out of it for a moment.

Let’s look at your old FACE covers. The first was done just after that Glastonbury. How well do you remember the shoot and interview?

I can’t remember the shoot – although just as I’ve said that, there’s Polaroids in my head. But I remember hanging out with Oasis and getting a golf-ball sized lump under my chin – my glands came up because I’d been awake for so long and I’d done so much coke.

Did that ​’95 story give you confidence as a brand new solo artist who’d just escaped – or, been sacked by – the biggest boy band in the country? ​“OK, these cool people think I’ve got something…”

Well, it did. But then I went off and got really fat and looked like a farmyard animal. Then I turned up to the opening of every letter. And also didn’t have any songs written. And in between Take That and Angels [in 1997] it was just a battlefield of embarrassing myself, being embarrassing.

So all this goodwill – which was what that was – was wonderful, and I’m grateful for it. But I undid it very quickly by having nothing to back it up. And by just hanging out with Oasis and going to gigs and doing coke and going to The Groucho.

Then, the second cover, which was published at the end of 1998. Your second album I’ve Been Expecting You has just come out, you’ve had a run of big, big singles: Millennium, She’s The One, No Regrets, Strong. That bloodied nose image: how did that reflect your mindset at the time?

It was me versus everyone – in my head. Revenge was definitely a motivator. The revenge was to Take That. It was to all the other magazines. The tabloids. It was me. Funnily enough, I remember the first FACE cover more than I remember that one. Because I didn’t have a lot on the first time, ha ha! And then I had too much on for the second one!

I wanted to be taken seriously like that. There’s no cynical headline on it. Which always happened with Q magazine or Select magazine or the NME. If they put me on the cover, it might as well have just said: ​“CUNT”. So there was a kindness that THE FACE afforded me that I’m really grateful for.

Chris’s story starts the preceding summer, at the V98 festival in Leeds, at which both you and your then girlfriend, All Saints’ Nicole Appleton, were performing. That was the peak of a relationship that, as we see in Better Man, ends in a plunging low. How was it seeing that period and aspect of your life depicted in the film?

Well… [Exhales heavily] She… That’s the bit in the film – I’ve seen it nine times now, because I’ve sat in screenings and done premieres and stuff — that remains difficult to watch. There’s other stuff in there that is triggering, and has grief surrounding it. That’s hard, too. But the hardest bit is who I was and how I treated Nic. Because everybody else in the film did something to me. I’m not generally happy to throw people under the bus, but if the bus is passing, I’ll do a quick chuck.

With the Nic bit: I still have shame about not being a brilliant boyfriend. And just being a fucking lunatic cokehead. She deserved better, because she’s a kind person, she’s an honest person, she’s an authentic person. But you know, these are the relationships that you have when you’re 23, 24. I just wish the training wheels for both of us [hadn’t come off]. I wish the person riding the bike had been more stable. But it was me and I wasn’t.

Has Nic seen the film?

Yeah.

And?

I FaceTimed her straight after she came out of the screening. And we wept. I wept more. Then in between getting my breath and being able to speak, the only thing that we could say to each other was: ​“Triggered!” And then we’d giggle, and then we’d cry more. She’s a good person, Nic.

Has the film dug up stuff that you didn’t necessarily want to have to face again?

Ah… I did a load in the documentary [last year’s four-hour Netflix deep-dive Robbie Williams]. That was more difficult because I was doing eight-hour interviews for 21 days straight, sat at the coalface. Or a better analogy: watching the car crash, in a headlock. Then with the film, before it was all sewn together, I’d seen the scenes. So I could prepare for seeing it all together. My nan’s funeral, the first time that I watched it, obviously I had a breakdown about that. But now I can watch it as an audience member.

Speaking of documentaries: the BBC’s Boybands Forever, to which you contributed, is a fascinating, warts’n’all account of those bands’ rises and falls. You wrote a lengthy, thoughtful and ultimately viral open letter to Take That creator and manager Nigel Martin-Smith, in response to his talking-head contribution to the series. Have you had any response from him through any channels?

No! But he’s very litigious, so I can only imagine that his lawyers went through it with a fine tooth comb. [Nigel impersonation] ​“What can I sue him for – for this?” But so far, so good. Yeah, I’ve heard nothing back.

What did you think of the series?

It’s all the stuff that I know. It’s hope and excitement. Then nervous breakdowns and putting yourself together for the rest of your life, with all the characters – managers, tabloids, record company people. Yeah, I thought it was really well done. I was happy that they didn’t stitch me up.

But there was a bit where I think Gaz [Gary Barlow] got stitched up. [In old footage] Gaz is doing a mock bravado bit, talking about being the [Gary impersonation] ​“big star in my village. People knew that I was going to go on to do things.” And it’s sold in the documentary that he’s arrogant. But I know he was joking in that moment. But, you know – the magic of TV!

What can you tell us about your new album that’s coming next year?

There’s been so many iterations of it. I wanted to write an album knowing everything that I know. So, what album would I have made leaving Take That? I wanted to return to 1996. Along the way, hit‑y sounding things have turned up that have got nothing to do with that whatsoever. So I started off with one thing, and it’s becoming something else.

Are you working with anyone?

People in my band. A guy called Freddie Wexler, a songwriter-producer in the States that got Billy Joel to [get back to writing]. So Freddie’s becoming the dinosaur whisperer. Oh, Gaz Coombes [from Supergrass]! And Chris Martin’s played on something. Glenn Hughes from Deep Purple’s played on something. Tony Iommi from Black Sabbath’s played on something.

You’re kidding?

No! Yeah, I know – Black Sabbath to Deep Purple!

Amazing. OK, your 2025 tour: I can get tickets for the first night, at Murrayfield Stadium in Edinburgh, ​“rear pitch standing”, for £107.50.

That’s decent, right?

It is. Is that because you’ve learned from the Oasis debacle, or because you need to flog some tickets?

[Thinks for a bit] Maybe a bit of both. I think that the whole music industry just learned something. By the way, I’ve never sat in a ​“How much are we pricing the tickets?” meeting. And I don’t believe that Oasis did either. I don’t believe that Oasis knew. Liam definitely didn’t know ​“this is how much tickets are going to cost. We’re going to do this thing called dynamic pricing.” I only know about dynamic pricing because of Oasis.

Now: with the ticket prices, the whole industry’s just gone: ​“Yeah, we can’t take the piss.” So I believe I’m not taking the piss. I also live in a bubble, and I don’t know how much a pint of milk costs. So I don’t know. I want to be worth the going rate. Whatever price you put a ticket at, somebody on Twitter will be outraged: ​“52 pound for a ticket?”

But that whole dynamic pricing thing, it even made me go: ​“Fuck, I need to be in some sort of meeting.” Or just go: ​“Let’s not have that happen!” But it’s very difficult. In 2006 there was a ticket scalper guy that bought a £1.5 million mansion off scalping my tickets. That feels bad. That feels bad on the people that bought the tickets, and it feels bad for me. You fucking scammed them and scammed me.

So I don’t know what you do, how you make it right, how you stop being greedy, how you figure out what you’re worth whilst not extorting people. Because at the end of the day, tickets are only too much if they don’t sell. If you sell out, or if you sell 95 per cent of the tickets, they weren’t too much.

Which in isolation, in an interview, will sound really bad, of course. But it’s true.

So, to answer your question: I guess half of it is noticing what happened with Oasis, and the other half is being nice. Well, OK, three quarters being nice – my principles can vary. And wanting to sell tickets.

How do you think Noel and Liam will respond to their portrayal in the film?

Can I just say I fucking loved Liam’s response to the tickets. He just went: ​“Fuck off. That’s how much they are.” I was just like: ​“Yes, well done, mate.” I’d never say that – I can’t. But Liam saying that: ​“That’s why you’re you, and that’s brilliant.” How would they respond to their part in the film? I don’t know if they’ll not like themselves or go: ​“Yeah, we were that.” What did you think?

Pretty funny, actually. It’s hard to play them without looking like Manc-lad caricatures. But the actors who do it in your film, they do it pretty well.

Yeah. And Noel’s one line to me! I’m like: ​“Is that AI?” Because that’s fucking an incredible impression.

What did he say again?

​“Fuck off, cunt.” ​“Fuck”, ​“off” and ​“cunt”: only three words, but it’s so him.

Finally, your eldest kid Teddy is now 12 – by which age, as we see early in Better Man, you were already fully committed to being an entertainer. How strong is her performing gene?

God, overwhelming. She’s put in her 10,000 hours. I realised that before I was 16, I’d put in 10,000 hours of thinking I was famous, and performing for myself. And she has and is doing both of those things. It’s very interesting to watch. Scary to watch. And exciting to watch. She wants it, and more badly than I did. That is fucking terrifying.

Right. Do you want to hear one of my new songs?

And with that, Robbie gets his laptop, pulls up a song called Rocket, which is his collaboration with Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi, and presses play. It’s a very metal, very pop, very joyous racket. Robbie then hands me the laptop and starts singing along and air-guitaring. Once a performing monkey…

Better Man is in cinemas from Boxing Day. The soundtrack album is released on 27^th December. The Robbie Williams Live 2025 tour starts on 31^st May.