A Liverpool Story Like No Other: Reviewing the New Kenny Dalglish Movie

Asif Kapadia’s new film tells the story of Kenny Dalglish not just as a footballer or manager, but as the emotional centre of a city through glory and grief.

Kenny Dalglish: More Than a Legend, Still the Heart of Liverpool

When I sat down to watch Kenny Dalglish on Amazon Prime Video, I wasn’t expecting revelations. I already knew the story. Like many Liverpool fans of a certain age, I’ve carried the major moments of Kenny Dalglish’s career with me for decades. From that chip at Wembley in 1978 to the Stamford Bridge winner in 1986, I’ve lived those memories, not just watched them. I was invited to the premiere but couldn’t make either the Liverpool or London screenings. Still, in the comfort of home, I watched with a familiar mix of awe and gratitude. Then I messaged Kenny to congratulate him.

This film is not for those of us who’ve long sung Kenny’s name. It is for those who don’t yet understand why we do.

Three Faces of Immortality

Asif Kapadia, best known for exploring the complicated lives of subjects like Diego Maradona and Amy Winehouse, chooses a different tone here. He doesn’t try to dramatise Kenny’s story with scandal or obsession. Instead, he breaks it into three elemental forces, the footballer, the manager, and the man. And through that lens, Kenny Dalglish becomes something much richer than a traditional sports documentary.

First, the football. For younger supporters who know Kenny only from grainy YouTube clips or FIFA Ultimate Teams, this part will be a revelation. The footage has been lovingly curated, and the quality of play is startling. Dalglish doesn’t just look good for his era, he looks good now. Two-footed, strong, agile, quick off the mark and even quicker in thought, his performances feel modern. He was a false nine before the term existed. He dictated the rhythm. He didn’t just read the game, he orchestrated it.

I’ve written before about what made Kenny unique in this role, the link-man, the visionary. He wasn’t just creating chances. He was creating football in real time. Every pass, turn and subtle touch was purposeful. For those interested, you can read more of my reflections here: And Could He Play: Sir Kenny Dalglish.

Watching the film, what really lands is the variety of Kenny’s skill set. There’s footage of him twisting defenders into knots, slipping passes through gaps no one else even saw, curling efforts beyond goalkeepers who knew what was coming but still couldn’t stop it. He had that rare quality, not just excellence, but inevitability. His decision-making under pressure was clinical. Whether it was a slide-rule pass or a chest control followed by a volley, it was always the right option at the right time.

Then comes the manager. And this is where the film leans into something deeper. Kapadia allows the footage to breathe. The moment Kenny becomes player-manager in the aftermath of Heysel, a tragedy still etched into the soul of the club, you begin to feel the burden he carried. Not just of results and trophies, but of responsibility. Within a year he delivers a league and FA Cup double, scoring the goal that clinched the title at Stamford Bridge. He does it while carrying the psychological weight of rebuilding a traumatised club.

The film shows just how unique that transition was. Not only did he step up into management, but he did so without losing his influence on the pitch. In today’s game, the idea of a player-manager is unthinkable. Yet Kenny not only managed it, he excelled. He didn’t just lead from the technical area, he led by example with his boots still laced. That kind of authority, built on respect rather than title, is rare in any era.

But it is at Hillsborough where the human being takes centre stage. Kapadia never sensationalises it. He doesn’t need to. The reality was hard enough. You see a man turning up at funerals, sitting in silence with grieving families, becoming the face of a city’s sorrow because no one else would. Not through a PR campaign or social media push. Just by showing up. Day after day. With empathy. With dignity.

These scenes are difficult to watch, even all these years later. But they are necessary. They show that leadership in football does not always come with tactics or transfer policies. Sometimes, it comes with presence, with compassion, with the willingness to carry burdens that should never have been his alone.

Not Just a Documentary, But a Reminder

What makes Kenny Dalglish so powerful is that it captures not just the milestones, but the weight behind them. There are few figures in football who have carried so much for so long, without ever demanding attention. Dalglish didn’t chase credit. He deflected praise with humour, handled grief with grace, and when the strain finally broke him, he stepped away quietly.

Kapadia’s voice as a filmmaker remains in the background, and that’s the point. He lets Kenny’s voice guide the story. It’s not always a direct narration, but it’s consistent in tone and presence. You feel the years in Dalglish’s voice. You hear the effort it takes to revisit the worst days. He doesn’t say everything, but he doesn’t need to. The images do the talking. The archive footage, much of it unseen until now, is gold dust. The film’s emotional impact doesn’t come from editorial tricks, it comes from truth.

There’s a moment, short, almost missable, where you see Kenny sitting alone, overwhelmed, wearing that oversized coat during the aftermath of Hillsborough. That shot says more than any monologue ever could. You see a man, not a manager. A father, not a footballer. A human being doing everything he can not to fall apart.

For the Next Generation

For my generation, the film won’t teach us anything radically new. And that’s fine. That’s not its purpose. This is a film designed to pass the torch, to tell Kenny’s story to those who never saw him play or manage in real time. And it does so without romanticising or overinflating. It sticks to the facts. But when the facts include six league titles, three European Cups, a player-manager double and a city’s unending respect, embellishment is not required.

The beauty lies in the subtle framing. The comic book-style intro, the Panini sticker imagery, the Roy of the Rovers energy, it sets the stage for a real life superhero. But the film avoids myth-making. Dalglish is not presented as flawless. Just faithful. Not perfect. Just present. Again and again.

Kapadia resists the temptation to stretch the narrative into his second managerial stint or the Blackburn title win. And rightly so. This is not a career retrospective. It is a character study. The story ends when Kenny walks away in 1991, drained but undefeated, carrying the love of a city that understood exactly what it asked of him.

Legacy Carved in Truth

Watching Kenny Dalglish in 2025, with Liverpool champions again under Arne Slot, the resonance is sharper. It reminds us that greatness is not just about goals or trophies. It is about character. About turning up in the hardest moments and not looking for applause.

Dalglish did not shape Liverpool’s identity on his own, but no one has come closer to embodying it. From Dalmarnock to Celtic, from Anfield to the dugout, he stood for something solid. Something rare. In an era where loyalty and humility are in short supply, he remains football’s enduring moral compass.

And could he play? Of course. But more importantly, he cared. And that, in the end, is what this film leaves you with. Not awe. Not nostalgia. Just a deep, enduring sense of gratitude.