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Bill Shankly at Anfield in 1973.
Common touch … Bill Shankly at Anfield in 1973. Photograph: PA Archive/Press Association
Common touch … Bill Shankly at Anfield in 1973. Photograph: PA Archive/Press Association

Shankly: Nature's Fire review – reverent portrait of Liverpool FC legend

This article is more than 6 years old

Liverpool greats line up to pay tribute to tough-nosed Scottish football manager Bill Shankly in this sweeping, melancholic documentary

An unmistakable air of regret and melancholy hangs over this – understandably – hagiographic portrait of Bill Shankly, the tough-nosed Scot who singlehandedly yanked Liverpool FC from second-division also-rans to the all-conquering force they became in the 1970s and 80s. Partly it’s down to a somewhat downbeat framing device that follows a coach-load of family and fans to Shankly’s now-demolished birthplace in a mining village in Ayrshire. But it is also due to Shankly’s well-known, and seemingly much-regretted, decision to abruptly resign his position in 1974, shortly after Liverpool’s celebrated victory over Newcastle in the 1974 FA Cup final.

This documentary, directed by Mike Todd, covers all the bases: including Shankly’s time as a player with Carlisle and Preston North End and his first strides into management with Huddersfield. But the meat of the story comes, of course, when he arrived at Liverpool in 1956 and, according to the profusion of talking heads Todd captures, set the club’s ambitions ever higher. In a demonstration of how the FA Cup now appears to have lost much of its lustre, Liverpool’s cup triumph in 1965 seemed to carry more weight than their league title a year earlier.

Todd’s documentary is good at stressing Shankly’s identification and credibility with the man in the street – AKA, the fans – as well as approaching the ticklish subject of his reluctant ruthlessness when key members of his 1960s team needed moving on and replacing. I’d have liked a bit more insight into Shankly’s football brain – what style and tactics, other than his general enthusiasm, did he bring to game? – and there is surprisingly little of the man himself in the film. Perhaps he was camera shy, or was operating in an era when managers were not expected to represent their teams quite so much as they are now. Whatever else, the queue of Liverpool greats lining up to eulogise the man himself, and the debt they owed him for their own careers, is undeniably impressive.

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