Why no one exploits their fame quite like David Beckham

Despite revelations about his life with Victoria, his celebrity friends and that alleged affair 20 years ago, David Beckham’s new Netflix documentary shows what is really at the heart of Brand Beckham, writes Jim White. The answer? Cold, hard cash

With David Beckham’s stewardship, Inter Miami fixtures have become must-see events for the A-list (AP)

Watching Beckham – the new four-part documentary series about England’s most renowned tattoo enthusiast and his pop star-turned-designer wife – it is notable how often the inked-up one complains about the constant invasion of his privacy.

It is, David suggests, the inevitable corollary of a life of celebrity (though, in truth, he doesn’t use the exact term “corollary”). Even as we see him in his kitchen, cleaning things up at the end of an evening with an obsessive compulsive zeal, so meticulous even the inside of his candle sticks get a polish, he is moaning about never having a private moment. Like his royal counterpart Prince Harry, it soon becomes clear Beckham is not remotely shy about raising issues of prying and intrusion straight down the lens of a television camera.

But before we reach for the irony metre, it is only fair to point out that what Beckham is really whinging about is uncontrolled invasions of privacy. Ones in which he has his finger on the record button are something quite different.

Indeed, in the same way the Duke and Duchess of Sussex cheerfully monetise intimate access, even as they whine about never having a moment to themselves, what we are seeing in this Netflix series is precisely and solely what Becks wants us to see. Just as with Harry and Megan – and, indeed, in the way everyone from Michael Jordan to the Formula One operating authority has done – this is a documentary series delivered by Beckham’s own production company.

He is more than aware of the value of his and his wife’s level of prowess. He knows the hint of access, playing to the public appetite for insight, has a significant value. And Netflix seem equally happy to shell out vast sums, knowing that the only way we are going to get any hint of what goes on behind the doors of the immaculately clean Chez Beckham is via his production company. Or, rather, that should be Chez Beckhams: one thing we learn from the series is that David is a man with a sizeable property portfolio.

This is not, then, an access-all-areas piece. Nor is it remotely independent or unfiltered. We are given precisely and exactly what Beckham wants us to see. Though he and his production company colleagues are shrewd enough to recognise that a bit of controversy sells, the stories that have been making headlines around the launch of the series – about how Alex Ferguson kicked a boot in Becks’s face, for instance – are not exactly hot of the press. Indeed, the tale of his relationship with Rebecca Loos was first told in the News of the World nearly 20 years ago. And in his exploration of that, Beckham neither admits it ever happened, nor even mentions her name.

John Battsek, the series producer, however, insists no holds were barred and every subject was on the table.

“We were clear from the start that we would only do this if we could go in any direction we wanted. And we did,” Battsek told the Times this week. But, then, he is an employee of Beckham’s company. And, frankly, if those are the toughest questions that were asked, he is unlikely to land a job at Guantanamo Bay’s interrogation centre at any time soon.

Given that he is driving the project – and he clearly is – the question remains: why is Beckham doing this now? Beyond, that is, the insatiable and constant need to turn a profit from renown, which these days is his only tradable commodity. The answer is there across several episodes. Rather more than merely a vanity project, this series is an extended promotion for his new property in the USA: Inter Miami.

Beckham is more than shrewd. He has long been an expert at exploiting and nurturing his own fame. While his wife can turn her hand to stitching the odd little black dress, this is his unique selling proposition: himself. The photogenic smile, the immaculate coiffure, the calm politeness: they all have a value.

And he knows his role in his new Florida-based football business is to raise its renown by shamelessly trading on his own celebrity. After persuading Lionel Messi to sign to play, it is fame that is the fuel driving the club. Matches have become must-see events for the A-list. Leonardo DiCaprio, Kim Kardashian, Serena Williams, Toby Maguire… they have all been nosily noticeable in the crowd at games.

So, too – and how they must have wished the cameras hadn’t caught them mixing with the names in the stand – have Prince Harry and Meghan. This series, available worldwide, is part of the plan to make Inter Miami the see-and-be-seen destination of choice, the place to mingle with the world’s most recognised faces. This is an unashamed commercial, delivered by Netflix.

The truth is, it is not insight, openness or access that is driving Beckham. It is cold, hard finance. Old Golden Balls has long since recognised that fame is the most valuable commodity of our time. And this series is but the latest evidence that, when it comes to exploiting it, there are few better than the lad from Walthamstow with the strange penchant for ink.