Sunderland 'Til I Die, Netflix review: an uplifting story found in one of the football team's grimmest seasons

“Haway the lads” say the signs at Sunderland FC. “No way, the lads” would be more appropriate during the docu-series Sunderland ’Til I Die. This Netflix production gets (almost) unfettered behind-the-scenes access during one of the grimmest seasons in Sunderland’s history. And that’s saying something for a club this catastrophically mismanaged.

Through fly-on-the-wall footage, talking head interviews and stylised match highlights, the eight-parter follows the rare highs and copious lows of the team’s 2017-18 season in the Championship, following its relegation from the Premier League the previous year. Can the Black Cats avoid the humiliation of two drops in a row, falling into football’s third tier for only the second time in their 140-year history? 

The vast majority of viewers will know the answer, of course, draining this true-life drama of jeopardy. Instead the fascination is akin to rubber-necking a slow-motion, red-and-white striped car crash. What ultimately emerges, though, is a poignant tale in which fans become the protagonists. 

The series opens in city centre church St Mary’s, where Father Marc Lyden-Smith tells his congregation that supporting their team is a “community of faith” and the stadium is “a mega-church”. He then asks them to bow their heads and pray for the salvation of Sunderland’s season.

The unwavering passion that Wearside residents have for their team is immediately palpable. It’s a vivid portrayal of the close bond between football fans and their clubs. In a city ravaged by the death of the coalmining and shipbuilding industries, the team’s fortunes have become the main source of community and pride.

The Stadium of Light has been recorded as the loudest ground in English football. These are supporters so committed that they name their first-born son after revered former striker Niall Quinn, get tattooed with the face of Quinn’s strike partner Kevin Phillips and ask to be buried in full replica kit. They’re Sunderland ’til they die and beyond.

Under-pressure manager Simon Grayson gets put out of his misery and sacked midway through the series. That’s not a spoiler. Sunderland sees more firings than The Apprentice boardroom. The team’s fortunes might not improve but the documentary does, because the monotone Yorkshireman is replaced by the much more charismatic and telegenic Chris Coleman. He ends up being sacked as well.

Cameras flit from crowd scene to intimate close-up. We spend time with players’ families, see the daily grind of injury rehabilitation, savour the “organised chaos” of transfer deadline day and ride shotgun in hapless chief exec Martin Bain’s Range Rover after yet another dispiriting defeat.

Heroes and villains gradually emerge. Baddies include want-away striker Lewis Grabban, overpaid and under-played Jack Rodwell, and the show’s “big bad”: American owner Ellis Short, who refuses to invest in the team just when it needs rescuing most. 

Among the good guys are injury-blighted but admirably honest midfielder Jonny Williams, who is shown seeking a psychiatrist’s help; whole-hearted local lad George Honeyman, now the club captain; Costa Rican full-back Bryan Oviedo, who weeps when the worst happens; and Dutch goalkeeper Robin Ruitter who remains charm personified, even when all he seems to do is pick the ball out of the net. 

The biggest heroes by far, though, are the featured club staff and season ticket holders. All are warm, stoically loyal and blackly humorous. They’re sick with nerves one minute, tearful the next. We see how bad results don’t just ruin their week but potentially their livelihoods too. The club is a major employer and jobs will be lost if relegation occurs. 

The ceaseless footballing pain is lightened by small uplifting moments. A fan waves his prosthetic leg in the air to celebrate a goal. Youth players start a snowball fight with the senior team. There’s a sweet friendship between academy graduates Josh Maja and Joel Asoro.

Handsomely produced as it is, the series is by no means perfect. Too many of the subjects fall back on bland sporting cliché to describe Sunderland’s plight. Bain, in particular, is guilty of using the term “the football club” approximately three times per sentence. 

Shutters often come down just when things are getting juicy. We see the build-up to sackings and player disciplinaries but, perhaps understandably, aren’t allowed to witness them. We’re shut out of the dressing room during team talks too. Such omissions feel frustrating. 

The enigmatic figure of Short hovers off-stage throughout, like a ghostly spectre. He’s frequently spoken of – usually in less than flattering terms – but never sighted, let alone interviewed. He’s eventually bought out by insurance mogul Stewart Donald, who is eerily reminiscent of David Brent. 

This immersive, involving series is lovingly made by production company Fulwell 43 – life-long Sunderland fans themselves – but across eight episodes, some of its stylistic touches begin to grate. The self-indulgent title sequence strains too hard to be epic. There’s an over-reliance on slo-mo and explanatory captions.

However, quibbles are minor. It’s a mark of the Mackems' resilience and the film-makers’ skill that such a bleak narrative still ends on a note of optimism. Fans smile through their tears during a maudlin pub singalong. Ticket office staff are shocked when the queue to renew season tickets still snakes out of the door. 

Even fans of local foes Newcastle United, who normally revel in their arch rival’s misfortunes, would surely find something in their eye. Haway the lads indeed.

Sunderland ’Til I Die is available on Netflix now