Wednesday, October 1, 2014

TIFF 2014 Review: FOXCATCHER (2014, USA)

dir. Bennett Miller



Bennett Miller’s still slim body of work shows him to be a rather reticent teller of stories centering on a neatly set-up encounter between incarnations of opposing ideas. In his usual restrained mode, Miller regards with a blend of detachment and empathy his heroes who are either a sharp, city-bred writer probing the mind of an inmate on death row for unleashing horror on a rural village, or a cocksure yet jinx-fearing baseball guru questioning received tradition with a revolutionary tactic. Be it between a reporter and his sources, or between underdog instigators and the status quo, the director has made a point of underscoring the players’ inherent power imbalances. In Foxcatcher, another putative sports movie of his, he yet again opts for dichotomous characterization in depicting the close-knit wrestling world nestled on an aristocratic family's estate, fashioning his story as an allegory of American ideals. Here the main conflict arises between an heir to that family’s fortune and working-class athletes in his care.   

The inspiration for the movie came from a roughly 20-year-old homicide that occurred in a snow-buried town of Pennsylvania, where a decorated wrestler was shot dead by his multimillionaire sponsor. It was a murder with no apparent motive; at the time, it was pretty much chalked up to an inexplicable act by a very rich man, who was also mentally ill. The movie, then, may initially come across as an attempt to fill in that motivation blank. It is revealed soon, though, that Miller is more interested in creating some sort of portrait of the country’s privileged .01 percent. To amplify rhetorical effect, he grafts the 1996 killing onto the 1980s time frame. By doing so, he also situates the sponsor-beneficiary relationship’s metamorphosis—from its love-at-first-sight beginnings to deterioration, and to climaxing in a grotesque tragedy—in a more continuous flow of events. Thrown into this dynamic is Mark Schultz, the victim’s brother tasked with a much more pivotal role in the drama than he would have in real life.



So there are, say, two competing elements at work in the narrative, that is, an illustration of unfettered inherited wealth and an observation of the three men’s shifting relations. But despite the filmmaker’s broader ambitions, the heart of the film lies in the younger Schultz—his rise and fall, and his arc of ups and downs with his brother and with John du Pont. Scenes of du Pont founding a wrestling team named after and treated like his family’s property, producing broadcasts of his—the team’s—accomplishments to perpetuate the family’s glory, are all overtly derisive notes of affluent power sans virility and its media manipulation.

But Miller does a better job of conveying emotional undercurrents among the trio, especially through their corporeal manifestations: wrestling scenes (what else?). Starting off with medium two-shots, the director lets the camera close in on the tussling characters, resulting in the tension ratcheting up. In an earlier match between the brothers, intimacy segues into hostility; a later one between Mark and du Pont even exudes a homoerotic vibe, bringing them closer. Individually, Miller assigns each man a particular visual motif, with Mark often having his back turned and du Pont, with his pallid face constantly in close-up, sitting in his chair brooding. In delivering their given tasks, the actors are more than serviceable. Both Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo, as the Schultz brothers, use their physicality and communicate subtle emotional changes remarkably. But among them, it will be Steve Carell who gets showered with praise for the golden statue. While considering the other two finer actors, admittedly, one cannot quite shake off Carell’s haunting close-ups—a mix of apparent apathy and chilling cruelty.


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