An intimate portrait of Victoria Beckham is what we were promised by the lavish publicity surrounding the release of the three-part documentary – entitled Victoria Beckham – about the female half of the enduring power couple, and an intimate portrait of the singer turned mogul is what was not delivered. It is about as intimate as a Pret sandwich, and if anyone thought for a moment it was going to be otherwise, well, let me introduce you to With Love, Meghan, whose searing insights into life as a duchess in Montecito are going to blow your mind.
Victoria Beckham the documentary is as immaculately groomed, polished and controlled as Victoria Beckham the person. It is a puff piece for her, for husband David, her beauty line and, above all, her fashion business. It charts her evolution from stagestruck child and teenager (“You got a callback for Starlight Express!” mum Jackie recalls proudly), to Spice Girl, to most famous of the England football team’s WAGs, to increasingly successful fashion designer and businesswoman. Against a background of preparations for her biggest show yet, in the grounds of a Parisian castle, a variety of big names in the industry – including Anna Wintour, Tom Ford and Donatella Versace – talk about what is needed on top of talent to make it in a competitive (not to say vicious) field, the snobbery she faced as a newcomer from the world of entertainment and the scepticism she has overcome.
David testifies to her work ethic (“She likes to prove people wrong. Quietly”) with his customary charming twinkle and humour, and Victoria covers her “miserable cow” image (the product of the intense media focus on her looks and flaws, which later contributed to her eating disorder, explained here by Beckham as an attempt to control one of the few things she could at the time). When they are together they tease and mock each other with the ease of the long-married, but it is the unspoken, underlying joint reluctance to go out to a party that is probably the most resonant scene for those of a similar age and marital state. It is good to know that however glamorous the event, by 50 you secretly just want to stay home.
Her mentor, Roland Mouret, is there to recount how he helped her become a designer (“You need ego, then you need modesty”) and how her first show – a tiny collection, 10 dresses shown in a New York apartment – was a wild success. Once people were convinced it was in fact Beckham’s own work and not Mouret’s, the fashionistas gradually let her into the fold. Bar a tricky moment involving millions of pounds of debt (effectively to her husband, who had invested heavily from the beginning) created by – hmm – being absolutely stupid with money is probably the best way I can summarise it, she has gained respect with every new collection, including the Paris show we see being put together over the nearly three-hour runtime.
Buried in this meticulously curated, extremely boring account of V Beckham’s rise and rise is a more interesting one about how we find our calling in life, how we come to know ourselves, what it means to have a creative urge and the joy that comes when you find the way to express yours. Beckham’s face lights up when she recalls learning her trade from Mouret, and when she is pinning outfits in the studio or putting together looks for the models. With her colleagues she moves differently, confidently; she relaxes in some ineffable but profound way, knowing she is in the right place, doing the right thing. The childhood urge to perform has found its true expression in designing beautiful clothes.
It could also be remade as a meditation on why the media take against some people, and some women in particular. Watching Victoria Beckham, you begin to see that it was always her inconsistency that put them off – the sober industriousness inherited from her parents lying beneath the apparently frivolous exterior. She was supposed to be a show pony – instead, she is an artist. She was supposed to be style over substance, but she has managed both. It does not compute. Just smile for the photographs. And she does not. She’s not that way inclined.
But these are thoughts and musings the programme has no interest in pursuing. It is a three-hour advert for brand Beckham with no higher purpose than to fulfil the £16-maybe-£20m deal they signed with Netflix, and a companion piece to the one David did in 2023. And it works. But she is so drily funny, so clearly far more interesting and insightful than she allows herself to be here, that the waste becomes infuriating. I would love to see her talk properly rather than in platitudes. Put her and best mate Eva Longoria in a room with a camera and a few bottles of wine and watch them go. Netflix, it’s over to you.
