So much for the idea that boybands burn bright and fade fast. When Take That first came together, Margaret Thatcher was still in Downing Street and the internet hadn’t yet reshaped the world. Now, decades later, Netflix’s documentary charts the group’s remarkable endurance, revisiting their highs, their fractures, and their repeated rebirths. It has been more than twenty years since their first reunion and three decades since Robbie Williams famously walked away, yet the story still feels alive. For anyone who grew up alongside their music, this documentary plays like a nostalgic, mostly joyful journey through time.
Rather than leaning into spectacle or ego, the film opts for a stripped-back approach. There’s none of the theatrical self-mythologising seen in other pop documentaries. Instead, viewers are shown grainy home videos from backstage corridors and band meetings, layered with audio-only reflections from Gary Barlow, Mark Owen, and Howard Donald. Whether these recordings are newly unearthed or simply recontextualised hardly matters; for casual fans, they offer an intimate window into the realities of touring life and long-term fame.
The origins of Take That are revisited with honesty. Formed in Manchester in 1990 by Nigel Martin-Smith, the group was openly designed as a British answer to New Kids on the Block. Barlow was the first recruit, chosen for his songwriting talent and musical obsession, even if he lacked the dance moves of his bandmates. The dynamic that followed—Gary as the creative centre supported by four performers—was mostly accepted, though not without friction. Robbie Williams’ frustration at having his contributions sidelined would eventually ignite one of pop music’s most talked-about fallouts.
Relentless work defined their early years. The band performed anywhere they could, from small venues to school halls, sharpening their skills in front of ever-growing audiences. Looking back, the documentary highlights how different that era was, when fame felt like an aspiration rather than a risk. Their styling and early videos, particularly those aimed at courting the club scene, haven’t aged gracefully, but the band members recall the period with affection. Even so, the film doesn’t shy away from the toll it took, underlining how celebrity pressure can quietly erode mental health.
The most sobering moments come when the members discuss life after their first breakup. Jason Orange recalls sinking into such despair after Robbie’s exit that he contemplated ending his life. Gary speaks candidly about the collapse of his solo career, the isolation that followed, and his struggles with bulimia. Howard reflects on his own anxiety and lack of confidence when he tried to step out alone. Robbie’s battles with addiction and fame are already well documented, yet they loom large here too. And still, like pop’s great survivors, Take That carry on—touring again this summer and promising new music before the year is out, proving that their story is far from finished.
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