(Credit: Netflix)

There are music biopics, and then there are music biopics that stop you mid-scroll, mid-snack, and mid-life. The kind that makes you pause, put your phone down, and realise this one actually means something. Netflix has brought something similar, the decade-old ITV hit Cilla. It is not here to be flashy or overproduced. It is here to make you feel something real.

Originally aired as a three-part series in 2014, Cilla tells the story of Cilla Black. She was a British pop icon, Liverpool’s own, and one of the few women who built a glittering career in an industry that often refused to take her seriously. It stars Sheridan Smith in what might honestly be one of the best performances you will watch this month. Possibly even this year.

Now, we know what you are thinking. A wholesome 60s-era singer in pastel cardigans, singing ballads on cigarette-smoke-soaked stages? Pass. But Cilla flips the script. This is not just about the music. It is about a working-class girl who refused to shrink herself. It is about ambition, heartbreak, survival, and a lot of grit hidden under a perfect blowout. Yes, it is also about the music. But the songs are performed with such emotional weight that they feel like confessions, not just performances.

Sheridan Smith’s portrayal is stunning. Not the kind of stunning where you say, “She nailed the accent,” and move on. The kind of stunning where you forget she is acting. From Cilla’s nerves in a smoky Merseybeat club to her fear during early auditions, Smith captures every vulnerable moment. She shows us a woman balancing love, ambition, and fame without turning her into a cliché.

The music does not disappoint. Smith performs Cilla’s hits herself and does it with raw emotional depth. “Anyone Who Had a Heart” and “You’re My World” are not played for nostalgia. They land with force. Even if you have never heard Cilla Black before, the impact of those songs is hard to miss.

What sets Cilla apart is its context. The Beatles are not just name-dropped for effect. They are part of the world that shaped her. Brian Epstein, who managed both The Beatles and Cilla, plays a crucial role in her rise. And Bobby Willis, her partner, adds an emotional core that keeps the story grounded. This is not a fame fantasy. It is a story about what it takes to survive success.

Visually, the series captures 1960s Liverpool in all its texture. It does not rely on glossy nostalgia. The mood is gritty when it needs to be, warm when it earns it. The writing avoids melodrama. The performances speak for themselves. Everything feels personal and earned.

What makes Cilla so refreshing is that it is not trying to mythologise her. It is not interested in spectacle. It respects the legacy of a woman who did not need fireworks to stand out. All she needed was a microphone and a little room to be heard.

If you are tired of over-polished music dramas on Netflix that focus more on wigs than heart, watch Cilla. It is thoughtful, intimate, and quietly devastating in the best possible way. It does not just tell you who Cilla Black was. It shows you why she mattered.

Cilla is now streaming on Netflix. Watch it for the music. Stay with the woman behind it.