The lights fade, and I settle into my seat, thinking, this could be quite something.
There are those strange few seconds before a film begins – the quiet shuffle of an audience finding itself. Around me sit Oasis fans, some drawn here by the music, others by memory, and I find myself wondering how it will feel to watch this particular story unfold on a big screen.
For me, it feels personal in a way I hadn’t quite expected. My first Oasis gig was at T in the Park, in the King Tut’s Tent in Hamilton, Scotland. I can still recall exactly what it felt like standing in that tent, watching a band that was beginning to seem like something far greater than just another name on a festival bill.
So when Oasis appear on screen, those memories come rushing back all at once.
The atmosphere in the room shifts almost immediately. You can hear people reacting to familiar faces and footage, and I find myself leaning forward, completely absorbed. For a moment, I’m not watching a documentary at all. I’m back in that tent.
The film begins where it should – at the very start. The formation of the band, the early years, the records, the rise and the wonderful madness that followed. It moves through everything that made Oasis who they were before arriving, inevitably, at the split. Noel and Liam go their separate ways. Years pass. They barely speak.
Watching that now, knowing what is still to come, there’s something quietly uncomfortable about it. You find yourself thinking about everything they built together and how easily that could have been the end of the story.
But it isn’t. The reunion rehearsals arrive and the mood changes entirely. You can see the weight of history between them, the awkwardness that comes with years of silence – and then they start playing. That’s when everything else seems to fall away. The disagreements remain part of the story, but they’re no longer the point. The music takes over. And sitting there watching it, I find myself smiling. Because this is Oasis.
Then comes Cardiff. The first show of the reunion. This is the moment the whole film has been building toward, and watching Noel try to hold himself together in the minutes before they go on really gets to me. You can see him taking it all in, trying to stay present, but the emotion is right there beneath the surface.
After everything that happened between them, they are about to walk onto a stage together again.
Then they do.
Liam.
Noel.
The band.
And they play. For that moment, all the years apart simply disappear. Jesus Christ, they were good.
The film then follows Oasis around the world, showing the band performing across different countries and, more importantly, showing the people who turned up to see them. That’s when the scale of it truly lands.
Thousands of fans singing every word. Different countries, different generations, but the same reaction every time. You see what these songs mean to people and begin to understand that this reunion was never just about two brothers setting aside their differences. It was about what Oasis has meant to everyone else.
There’s also a moment where Noel talks about Bonehead, and I found myself really moved by it – not simply because it’s about welcoming an old friend back, but because Bonehead is woven into the original sound of the band. When he plays, you hear that connection immediately.
Those guitars. That rhythm. Liam’s voice.
It sounds like Oasis. And Noel clearly understands exactly how much that matters.
The documentary keeps returning to the same essential truth: whatever happened between the brothers, the music was always bigger than any of it.
Live Forever. Supersonic. Wonderwall. Don’t Look Back In Anger.
These are songs that travelled far beyond the band that made them.
And then Don’t Look Back In Anger arrives, and I’m sitting in the cinema watching the crowd take over the song entirely.
The piano starts.
Noel sings.
Thousands of voices join in. I just sit there and let it wash over me. No arguments. No history. No speculation about what went wrong all those years ago. Just the song.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m standing in that King Tut’s Tent again – remembering the first time I saw Oasis and how utterly impossible it would have seemed then to picture all the years that would follow. The arguments, the split, the silence, and eventually this.
When the film ends, the cinema erupts into applause. I don’t move. I sit there for a moment and think about that night in Hamilton. I can picture myself clearly – packed into that tent, the heat of the crowd pressing in from all sides, watching this band and being completely lost in the moment. I had no idea then that those songs would follow me through so many years. I didn’t know I’d still be hearing them decades later, or that one day I’d be sitting in a darkened cinema watching those same lads – older now, somehow back together – doing it all over again. And yet here I am.
When I finally walk out, I realise I’m not leaving the memory behind. It’s still with me. That night, that tent, those songs, the feeling of being young and watching Oasis before any of us knew how the story would end. I’ve carried it quietly all these years without ever quite realising it. And now, with the applause still ringing in my ears, I feel something close to gratitude – that I got to see them then, and that I’m still here to watch them come back.
The years between those two moments suddenly don’t feel quite so long. For a few minutes, it’s as though the younger version of me and the person I am now are sitting in exactly the same place, listening to exactly the same band.
And that’s what I take home with me. This is a documentary not to be missed for any music lover. The big screen takes it to anther level.
Review by James Edmond
