James Weir recaps Warnie: episode 1 of the Shane Warne telemovie

The first instalment of the Shane Warne telemovie has stunned, with Warnie talking from beyond the grave. James Weir recaps the cringe.

The question of what happens after death has finally been answered by Australian cricket legend Shane Warne: You narrate your own cringey two-part Channel 9 biopic from beyond the grave.

Warnie, Channel 9’s rushed attempt at a telemovie to honour the sporting hero, is as slick and sophisticated as the bleached mullet that steals the spotlight in Sunday’s premiere.

The combination of cheesy voiceover and soapy acting leaves us more queasy than the fictionalised Shane Warne himself in a scene where he pounds back cartons of strawberry milk while chain smoking durries.

Breakfast of champions.

This biopic is Australia’s version of the Barbie movie — a tribute to a global icon. Both films require supreme attention to detail. In Barbie, director Greta Gerwig flawlessly creates the Mattel universe down to the precise shades of pink. In Warnie, it’s all about the precise shade of yellow in the mullet and the smear of white sunscreen across the nose.

Then there’s the Kath & Kim-style twist to pronunciation — moi, ploise — that only gets worse as the narration from lead actor Alex Williams amps up. This voiceover is abused to push forward a story that flows like a series of messy anecdotes being told over Christmas lunch by your drunk uncle who won’t shut up about his heyday.

Mullet, earring, ciggies: nailing the finer details.

“They gave moi a state memorial. Moi. A boy from Black Rock,” Williams, as Warne, posthumously reflects as footage plays from real-life news reports.

There’s Eddie McGuire, delivering the eulogy at the MCG funeral. Then there’s Channel 9’s Georgie Gardner, reading some kind of bulletin. It’s a peculiar blend of fact and fiction that’s supercharged when archived clips from talk show Parkinson begin to play, showing Real Warnie answering questions while Fake Warnie narrates over him.

“They had film stars, rock stars, some of the biggest people in the world. I mean … it was mind blowing,” the voiceover trudges on with more observations about last year’s state funeral. “I was given the Queen’s Birthday Honours — that’s like a knighthood, for being a role model. A role model. Those are her words, not mine. Amazing. Because, y’know, it wasn’t always like that … for moi.”

Cue the SFX of a rewinding VHS tape! Suddenly, we’re back in 1993. Maybe? 1993-ish. It’s hard to tell. That rewind SFX plays a lot as we zip between the ‘80s, 90s and early 2000s.

Simone and Warnie … Australia’s Barbie and Ken.

Anyway, it’s in the early ‘90s that we see a young Warnie at training, realising his gift: The Flipper. What follows is a reverent ode to the flick of the wrist that defined the spin king’s signature bowling style.

“For those of you who think The Flipper is some kind of dolphin, lemme explain,” the voiceover declares as we pick up the couch cushions and cover our wincing faces. “You can spin the ball two ways. One: with ya fingers. Or: wrist spin – where ya use your whole wrist, which is what I do.”

This narration is layered over kaleidoscopic footage of Warnie bowling while disco lights flash, like a Kylie Minogue video clip.

Padam. Padam.

The Flipper monologue ends with a poem we’ll call Rhythm & Feel.

“It’s all about the feel … the rhythm. The rhythm and the feel. The drive of the hips. The point of release. The revs on the ball. The rhythm and feel.”

Coincidentally, this entire show has no rhythm or feel and is delivered to viewers like a cricket ball to the face.

There’s even a moment where Warnie breaks the fourth wall to address the audience.

We revisit a grab bag of scandals, from the goofy (Warnie getting papped smoking in a nightclub while being the ambassador of a Quit Smoking campaign) to the more serious (being offered US$200,000 by the captain of the Pakistani team to play poorly). But it’s one particular controversy that’s meant to provide the cliffhanger at the end of this biopic’s first instalment: fat pills.

After injuring his bung shoulder just five weeks out from the 2003 World Cup, a bloated Warnie is body shamed by his mum.

“You don’t look so crash hot. You look puffy in the face. Are you overweight? You should do something about ya looks,” she scolds.

Shane shrugs. “Well, I can’t exactly run.”

“So take a pill,” mum instructs.

Jump forward a few weeks to Johannesburg and Warnie’s panicking that his weight loss tablets are on the banned substances list.

He calls his wife Simone in a panic. “I failed a drug test. It’s the end of my career.”

Unfortunately, it’s not the end of this biopic. Episode two airs on Monday night.

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