As a film critic who’s spent countless hours analyzing how cultural movements shape our media landscape, I find the emergence of British boybands in the early ’90s particularly interesting. The British boyband trend started as a direct response to America’s New Kids on the Block, but with a unique British twist that would change pop music worldwide, much like the French New Wave’s reaction to Hollywood norms.
The British culture in the early ’90s was ready for change. As poll tax riots rocked the streets and Thatcherism waned, savvy music producers noticed a gap in the market. American groups like NKOTB seemed distant and untouchable, while British managers wanted to create something more relatable and local. It was similar to how Ken Loach made realistic movies about everyday life in Britain. These producers wanted to make pop music feel true to working-class experiences.
The formation process itself was a masterclass in culture engineering. Find a talented songwriter (Gary Barlow), surround him with people who complement him, and create a performing arts boot camp to make Stanislavski proud. This was the approach Nigel Martin-Smith took when creating Take That, and it would become the industry standard.
The audition process got more complex, with managers like Tom Watkins creating a “personality matrix.” This meant that every group had a mix of types, like the bad boy, the cute one, and the serious one. It’s similar to how directors often work with the same group of actors, each contributing their style to the team.
The Making of a Boyband: Manufacturing Dreams in the Pop Factory
Watching Boybands Forever reminds me of Federico Fellini’s “812”—both films lift the curtain on the machinery of entertainment, but with very different levels of strangeness. The documentary’s examination of image creation in the boyband industry reveals an interesting intersection of art and business that would impress Andy Warhol.
The boybands dress has changed in a very planned and artistic way, much like an orchestra. East 17’s calculated “street” aesthetic and Take That’s early experiments with jelly-covered performances (a moment of unintentional avant-garde that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Matthew Barney installation) were carefully crafted for maximum effect. The documentary’s archival footage, shot in the soft-focus style of early 1990s videography, shows how these groups changed from awkward teens to polished pop stars.
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The target audience was carefully chosen. British managers like Nigel Martin-Smith understood the importance of being approachable, unlike their American counterparts, New Kids on the Block. They developed a multi-layered appeal: safe for parents, cool for teens, and just enough of an edge to feel real. It’s similar to how French New Wave directors carefully weighed artistic merit against business viability but with considerably more gel.
The music creation process is an interesting mix of working like a factory and true artistic passion. Gary Barlow went from being a teenage songwriter to a pop architect, a common path for independent filmmakers moving on to major projects. Although some band members might disagree, the documentary’s behind-the-scenes footage of dance practices and recording sessions has the same intensity as Aronofsky’s “Black Swan,” but without the psychological horror.
The quality of these groups’ recordings shows the shift from traditional to digital technology, with studios being places for trying out new sounds. Just like the Nouvelle Vague filmmakers used movable cameras and natural light, these producers used new technology to create a fresh sound that was both sleek and relatable. The documentary’s treatment of these technical aspects, which are layered with modern interviews, creates a compelling story about the industrialization of creation.
Peak of Success: When Pop Dreams Became Cultural Phenomena
Boybands Forever shows how quickly these groups became popular, and it reminds me of Scorsese’s “After Hours,” which takes you on a crazy ride where reality gets stranger with each passing moment. The documentary’s treatment of Take That’s breakthrough with “Could It Be Magic” – a Barry Manilow cover of all things – shows how success in pop culture often comes from the most unexpected places, much like how Truffaut’s “Day for Night” showed us the beautiful chaos behind creating magic.
The archival footage of the chart performances is expertly edited, creating a rhythm that matches the bands’ growing success. When Take That reaches number one, the documentary shows that moment with the same exciting energy that Danny Boyle used in the famous chase scene from Trainspotting. Even a cynical film reviewer like myself can see why these bands sparked such a strong reaction from the crowd in the concert footage, which was shot with multiple cameras and quick cuts.
Speaking of hysteria, the documentary’s study of fan culture is where it truly shines. The film’s creators use a fantastic combination of modern interviews and historical footage that recalls the raw documentation of fandom from “Gimme Shelter,” but with considerably less darkness. The way Robbie Williams describes a contentious fan meeting is intercut with screaming crowd footage, and it creates an interesting commentary on fame and objectification that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Sofia Coppola film.
With the documentary makers wisely letting the absurdity speak for itself, the media coverage section plays like a greatest-hits collection of tabloid excess. Some of the meet-and-greet footage, showing thousands of teenagers camping outside hotels and television sets, carries the same anthropological fascination as Chris Marker’s observational documentaries. When Take That announces their split and the news makes the BBC Six O’Clock bulletin and a Samaritans helpline number, it feels like a complete scene from “Network” – except this was reality, not satire.
Behind the Curtain: The Dark Side of the Dream Factory
Boybands Forever has a moment that strongly reminds me of Darren Aronofsky’s “Black Swan,” not because of the supernatural parts, but because of how honestly it shows the mental strain of performing. The documentary reveals a machinery of exploitation that feels almost Kafkaesque in complexity, revealing the glossy veneer of 90s pop with the same methodical precision that Michael Haneke brings to dissecting bourgeois facades.
Complete with sarcastic power players and complicated financial arrangements, the management dynamics section reads like a David Mamet play. The filmmakers use smart visuals in this scene, with bright lighting and close-up shots during conversations with people like Simon Cowell and Tom Watkins, similar to the questioning scenes in “The Social Network.” The contrast between East 17’s members’ revelations that they were kept on meager weekly allowances while their boss furnished luxury apartments is highlighted by abrupt cuts between old footage of their flashy music videos and recent interviews in simple settings.
Employing a format similar to Errol Morris’ interview style and allowing silences to speak volumes, the documentary expertly handles the subject of personal struggles. Robbie Williams talks openly about his struggles with drug abuse in a way that’s as personal and deep as Amy Berg’s documentary “Janis: Little Girl Blue.” Archival footage of intense performances is juxtaposed with honest confessional interviews, creating a devastating before-and-after effect that recalls “Amy.” The editing in this scene is important.
Particularly when looking at the rivalry between Williams and Barlow, the inter-band fights are presented with all the dramatic tension of a Scorsese film. The documentary filmmakers avoid sensationalizing the story and let it develop through carefully selected old footage and current thoughts. It presents a relationship breakdown where neither party is fully the bad or good guy, much like Noah Baumbach’s “Marriage Story.” Scott Robinson from 5ive talks about pinning an executive to a wall in a way that combines storytelling and clever editing, similar to what Claude Chabrol would appreciate.
Life After Fame: When the Spotlight Dims but the Story Continues
The last part of Boybands Forever reminds us of Agnes Varda’s “The Gleaners and I” as it examines second chances in life. Like Varda’s thoughtful travelers, these past pop stars find their way in life after fame, doing so with different levels of strength and grace. The documentary’s treatment of old age reminds me of how Paul Schrader frequently bases his dramas on the idea of redemption. In this case, salvation comes from surviving rather than going through a dramatic change.
The job transitions section is expertly constructed, employing a visual language that recalls François Ozon’s time-traveling narratives. While John Hendy from East 17 is shown returning to his roofing job with honor intact, Robbie Williams is interviewed in his Swiss chalet with subtle but revealing camera work. The filmmakers use a polite distance that reminds me of Frederick Wiseman’s observational style rather than playing the contrast for cheap irony.
The latest changes are expressed with the gentle style of a Yasujirō Ozu family drama. The news that 911 has experienced unexpected success in Vietnam feels like a Wes Anderson film moment – strange but moving. The reunion efforts are recorded with the same focus on group interactions that made Lindsay Anderson’s “If….” interesting, while the personal thoughts have the depth of real-life experiences, similar to Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood.”
What stands out is how the documentary presents these different endings without being judgmental. It presents these journeys, from Williams’ continued fame to Harvey’s struggles, with equal care and humanity, like Claire Denis’ character studies. The editing in these parts is impressive, creating a rhythm similar to jazz improvisation, where each story adds to and supports the others.
The Review
Boybands Forever
Boybands Forever goes beyond a standard music documentary by telling a powerful story about fame, exploitation, and cultural changes. Like the best character studies in movies, it combines enjoyable storytelling with important social issues, providing a look at history and connections to today's world. The documentary is powerful because it honestly looks at the real cost of the false glamour. Its editing and storytelling are well done, making it better than average documentaries. It is still an interesting look at a significant moment in pop culture, even though it sometimes holds back on some sensitive topics.
PROS
- Exceptional access to key figures and candid interviews
- Strong narrative structure across three episodes
- Rich archival footage and well-executed editing
CONS
- Some key figures (Gary Barlow, other Take That members) missing
- Occasionally repeats familiar territory
- Could delve deeper into certain controversial aspects
