A review of Netflix's Beckham

It obviously had to start with that goal. Whatever you think of Becks, the boyish good looks, the tabloid fodder marriage, the incessant branding and media savvy, you cannot deny August 17, 1996 at Wimbledon. All the hagiography this series engages in is essentially worth it to fawn over one of the greatest goals ever scored. It’s an audacious piece of footballing, one that could only come from a man with deep self-confidence and a knack for making things go his way. And for Manchester United, of course. The institution of English football, the juggernaut, the assured victors claiming their rightful dominance. It’s a perfect summation of David Beckham.

For a football fan like myself, these are the best parts of Beckham. Replaying the apex of Beckham’s career bears far more weight than any of his celebrity exploits or personal struggles, simply because Beckham himself isn’t really that interesting. He was a local Manchester lad with a United supporter father who became a worldwide phenomenon despite the fact that he really doesn’t have the same unique personal attributes of say, Cristiano Ronaldo’s self-obsessed dedication or Lionel Messi’s prodigal savant auteurism. Beckham is the ideal capitalist athlete, beautiful and malleable and easily brandable to where he doesn’t completely overshadow what is being sold. Even Beckham the Man does not outshine Beckham, the Image.

Thankfully, the amount of legends interviewed here alleviates this problem. Ronaldo, Luis Figo, Roberto Carlos, Sir Alex Ferguson, Eric Cantona, Florentino Perez, Roy Keane, and ESPECIALLY Diego Simeone all shine as brilliant figures of football lore, men probably far more worth of a documentary than Beckham himself. Credit to the Netflix crew, getting Simeone on this is a masterstroke considering France 98’, the guy is self-effacing and candid in lieu of one of the most controversial moments in the history of football. Doubly so considering he’s the manager of one of the biggest clubs in Europe, unlike most interviewed, he actually has current skin in the game, rather than just being a talking head at halftime. To bear that moment in history to a giant audience takes real stones, which, if you know Simeone, he’d stake his career on.

Easily the worst part of Beckham is Fisher Stevens inserting himself every few scenes for some reason. I don’t really know why he deems it fit to have these “behind-the-scenes” type introductions to scenes and shots but it’s such a weird narcissist move to actively make yourself a part of the series as a documentarian. It’s a blessing that Netflix’s access was able to get so many great interviews because without that, Stevens probably could’ve actively tanked the production with this bizarre self-obsession.

Victoria Beckham also plays a weird role in this series. It’s honestly pretty cool that their marriage has stayed steadfast in the face of insane media coverage, and she gives an interesting perspective in the face of Beckham’s football fame as a performer who honestly couldn’t have cared less about that world. But it’s funny that she hated Madrid so much while being married to a football star. Playing at Real Madrid supersedes any sort of personal comfort in an absurd way, and while it’s admirable to disregard that for your family, you have wonder: what did she expect? It’s a testament to their relationship that they managed to stay together, but that’s the difference between someone with investment in football and someone without; you simply cannot comprehend how fucking important that badge is. No offense to the Spice Girls but David played for Real Madrid.

David Beckham feels like this weird conduit for history. He’s one of the catalysts for the Premier League being the biggest in the world, he defines celebrity tabloid culture that marries sport and fame, his Asian tour and massive overseas fanbases foreshadow the rise of global capital through individuals in a way that not even Michael Jordan could touch, and the LA Galaxy stint prefacing his Inter Miami ownership succinctly sums up how team ownership among the elite has become du jour. Beckham now feels divorced from personhood, a human corporation, but we always have that Wimbledon goal to remember him by.