The opening scene of Robbie Williams (2023), a four-part BBC docuseries, is arresting in its simplicity: a middle-aged Robbie, alone on stage at Knebworth in 2003, belting out “Let Me Entertain You” to an audience of 125,000. The shot lingers on his sweat-slicked face, the raw vulnerability beneath the bravado. This is the series’ central tension—a pop star who craves both adoration and anonymity.

Created by Joe Pearlman, Robbie Williams charts the singer’s rise from Take That’s youngest member to global superstar, all while grappling with the toll of fame. Interspersed with archival footage are candid interviews with Robbie, his ex-wife Ayda Field, former bandmate Gary Barlow (via text messages), and collaborators like Guy Chambers. The series leans heavily on its subject’s charisma, which is considerable: Robbie’s self-deprecating wit and unguarded honesty make for compelling viewing.

Structurally, the docuseries mirrors its protagonist’s career—peaks followed by valleys. The Knebworth concert footage (where Williams sold out three nights straight) is electrifying, showcasing his stage presence and the sheer scale of his success. Later episodes delve into darker territory: his struggles with addiction, the strain on his family life, and the creative block that followed his departure from Take That in 1995. These moments land hardest when they’re grounded in specifics, like the raw audio clip of Robbie sobbing after a particularly brutal tabloid hit piece.

Where the series falters is in its pacing. The first two episodes are tightly edited, but the latter half drags as it retraces familiar territory (his solo career, the reunion with Take That). Some segments feel repetitive, and while Robbie’s introspection is refreshing, Pearlman occasionally lets him off too easy—glossing over his more controversial moments or letting self-deprecation mask deeper accountability.

The performances are uniformly strong. Robbie’s candor feels genuine, even when he’s spinning a narrative in his favor. Ayda Field offers poignant insights into their marriage and his sobriety journey, while Guy Chambers provides valuable context on the creative process behind hits like “Angels.” The real standout, though, is the archival footage: seeing young Robbie—all swagger and insecurity—perform in Take That’s early days is a masterclass in how fame reshapes a person.

Ultimately, Robbie Williams succeeds as both a celebration of its subject’s career and an unflinching look at the cost of stardom.