Having binged on true crime, “Big Streaming” is now turning to big-time soccer. Netflix has had a massive hit with its airbrushed chronicling of the life, times and haircuts of David Beckham, while Apple has just debuted a hagiography about Lionel Messi’s move to the United States. So, it is with a thudding sense of inevitably that Disney+ disinters the “Wagatha Christie” faux-scandal via a three-part documentary.
The problem faced by Coleen Rooney: The Real Wagatha Story (Disney+, from Wednesday) is that those interested in the case already know all the details. There’s nothing new here: certainly nothing we haven’t seen in Channel 4′s dramatisation of Rebekah Vardy’s libel trial last year.
The story began in 2019 when Rooney, wife of former England captain Wayne, accused Vardy – spouse of Jamie – of leaking posts from her private Instagram to The Sun. Rooney had laid a trap by sharing stories exclusively with Vardy, only for them to make the papers. With help from the red tops, she claimed to have caught Vardy red-handed.
That’s not how Vardy saw it and she decided to sue for libel. A London court dismissed the suit, however, on the basis that Rooney’s claims were “substantially true”. Twelve months later, the bru-ha-ha is retold in a drawn-out documentary.
Ireland’s new dating scene: Finding love the old-fashioned way
‘We’re getting closer to it being realised’: Ambitious plans for Dublin lido gather momentum
From enchanted forests to winter wonderlands: 12 Christmas experiences to try around Ireland
Hidden by One Society restaurant review: Delightful Dublin neighbourhood spot with tasty food and keen prices
Condemned to revisit old ground, the doc ropes in such random talking heads as professional loudmouth Piers Morgan. He says Rooney had no justification for claiming leaks from her Instagram breached her privacy. His logic is that she had approximately 300 followers – and was famous.
“If I was to broadcast stuff about my life to 300 people I wouldn’t have any expectation of privacy,” he thunders. “Particularly, if I was married to one of the most famous footballers in the country.
Rooney, meanwhile, admits to feeling sympathy for her nemesis (who faces legal bills of more than £3 million). “In a weird way, I felt for her,” she says. “She chose to go to court and put herself in that situation. It wasn’t nice.”
The most appealing aspect of the series is Rooney herself. In contrast to the performatively perfect Beckhams, she and Wayne are refreshingly unstarry. He mumbles through his interviews, not entirely clear why he’s on camera. And she expresses her bemusement about her fame in an early scene in which a paparazzi tries to snap her grabbing a coffee. In the surreal universe of top-level sport, Rooney’s insistence on staying normal is her most striking quality.
