Does anthropomorphism help humanise white men?

When the first trailer for Better Man – the Robbie Williams biopic directed by Michael Gracey – was released in October, it left the internet (and almost everyone I knew) completely baffled. The revelation that Williams would be depicted as a CGI monkey while the rest of the cast remained human sparked widespread confusion and disbelief. “This shouldn’t be happening,” a friend texted me. “I don’t understand. Why is he a monkey?” quipped another.

In an interview with the New York Times, Gracey explained the rationale behind this peculiar choice. Beyond its shock value, the idea reportedly originated with Williams himself, who had often referred to himself as a “dancing monkey” when recounting his life story. Gracey also suggested that portraying Williams as an animal would evoke greater audience empathy. “When you watch a monkey doing drugs, it’s actually really hard to watch,” he said. “We show it in a way that’s messy; it makes you uncomfortable.”

Critics have described this approach as a manipulative attempt by Williams to present himself in a more favourable, sympathetic light, and in many ways, it is. For instance, Better Man simplifies Williams’ battle with substance abuse to a single stint in rehab, culminating in a triumphant final act at the Royal Albert Hall with his father. In reality, Williams’ journey was far more complex, involving multiple attempts at rehabilitation throughout his career, starting as early as 1997. Rather than delving into the messy realities of addiction and recovery, Gracey and Williams opted for a more sanitised and ultimately less honest narrative arc. This is one reason many people oppose celebrities being involved in their own biopics. As Charles Bramesco wrote in the Guardian, “Allowing a person some measure of authority over their own depiction on film sets a director on a slippery slope that ends with pleasing the talent [and their own agenda] instead of challenging the audience.” However, while Better Man may lack honesty in certain areas, it seeks to convey a deeper truth, specifically by portraying Williams as an anthropomorphic chimpanzee.

Anthropomorphism, the attribution of human characteristics or behaviours to a god, animal or object, enables us to scrutinise the absurdities of human life with greater clarity. Gracey is right that we feel more sympathy for Williams as a CGI monkey; watching an animal use and abuse drugs is unsettling. Initially, it’s absurdly funny because of the visual incongruity, but as Better Man progresses, with Williams either snorting cocaine or injecting heroin in every other scene, the severity of his addiction becomes undeniable and horrifying. As a society, we claim to recognise the gravity of addiction, yet many of us routinely ignore or ridicule addicts in our daily lives, casually dismissing unhoused individuals as “crackheads”, whom we avoid in the street and walk past. More often than not, we are desensitised to the suffering of others, showing compassion only when it’s too late. Anthropomorphism, as Ole Christoffer Haga writes in his essay Anthropomorphic Deviations in Aren’t You Bojack Horseman? Critical Essays on the Netflix Series “gives the audience an awareness of their own human behaviour. When the detachment of behaviour and body is emphasised, a deeper contemplation of behaviour becomes possible.”

Better Man is not the only media that uses anthropomorphism to provoke reflection on human nature and the social construction of everyday life. Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s critically acclaimed Netflix series BoJack Horseman (2014-2020) is a masterclass in this approach. The show follows the life of a washed-up, self-destructive, anthropomorphic celebrity horse grappling with fame, addiction, abuse and mental illness. Like BoJack Horseman, Better Man revolves around a famous man struggling with his demons.

It’s worth noting that if these characters weren’t anthropomorphised animals, they would be privileged white men. This was a specific criticism levelled at BoJack Horseman when it premiered in 2014. In an opinion piece for the Guardian, Eleanor Robertson observed that “BoJack sounds exactly like a middle-aged white man. He is voiced by Will Arnett, a middle-aged white man. His cultural mores, values and tastes are those of a middle-aged white man.” She argued that the show obscured this by making him a horse. A similar critique could apply to Better Man. While it might seem troubling to divorce these characters’ actions from their whiteness and the privileges it affords them, anthropomorphism also distorts notions of gender and race (because they’re animals), offering a lens through which, as Lucy Rivers, a researcher of television sitcoms, writes, we can “see the humanity of [their] struggles”. This does not mean their bad behaviour or privileges are ignored; rather, it offers an opportunity to explore (if any) the similarities in our struggles.

One of the most apparent struggles for both Williams in Better Man and BoJack in BoJack Horseman is their masculinity. BoJack is a washed-up actor desperate for love and respect, yet his lack of success leaves him feeling emasculated. Bob-Waksberg’s decision to make BoJack a horse heightens this theme. While horses were once essential for transportation and held significant societal value, their role has diminished due to technological advancements in cars and public transport. Similarly, feminism has challenged traditional notions of masculinity, shifting the position of men in society. In Better Man, Williams’ depiction as a monkey is a commentary on how society commodifies celebrities – performers stripped of agency, existing solely for our entertainment. It also reflects how Williams sees himself: not evolved enough to be a human or a man, succumbing only to his base, animalistic desires such as rage, sex and addiction.

By the end of Better Man, the only sound you could hear in the cinema was sniffling. When I turned to my friend, we were shocked to see that we were both crying. It baffled us how Williams’ decision to depict himself as a monkey had moved us so deeply. Yet it’s the same reason BoJack Horseman resonated with millions of viewers. While BoJack committed unspeakable acts, people saw fragments of themselves in his struggles: the trauma of childhood abuse, his self-hatred, his desperation for acceptance and love and the ways he sabotaged his own happiness. Through anthropomorphism, we are offered a mirror that prompts self-reflection, allowing us to gain a clearer insight into ourselves.

Instead of dismissing or ridiculing films and shows that use animals to depict human behaviour, we should recognise their value. Anthropomorphism offers a unique lens through which to examine human nature, revealing truths that can be beautiful, uncomfortable and deeply honest – truths we might avoid or overlook when presented in human form. Better Man may be an unconventional experiment, but it highlights the enduring power of storytelling that dares to view humanity from an outsider’s perspective, showing us parts of ourselves we might otherwise struggle to face.