“I am the master of my-” (for better or worse)
Each year there is a film that critics and award show judges can’t leave alone, in spite of how truly awful it is. This year, joining the likes of such trash as “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” and Peter Jackson’s “King Kong” there is “Invictus.” Clint Eastwood directed this tale of South Africa in the day of Nelson Mandella, using the true life story of the country’s rugy team (and eventual triumph in the Rugy World Cup) as metaphor for nationalism. Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon star. It’s been nominated for 3 Golden Globe awards, and several others. Most are for acting, but many are for Best Director which implies the film is well put together.
Trouble is, the film fails on pretty much every level.
It’s a bad historical drama because it does very little to portray the true depth of racism and hatred that permeated the country before the end Apartheid. The film jumps from the release of Mandella from prison in the first scene (a single snide, racist remark provides the racial context here) to his election as President before the credits are over. Though I lived though this time of history, I was uniformed by this film about the depth of injustice perpetrated by whites over blacks in South Africa for many years. There’s some tension here and there, but if it’s to be a film about the history and end of hatred, it is lost.
It’s a bad biographical drama because Freeman is given so little to do. The depth of Mandella’s presidency is displayed only in the context of rugby. His grace toward whites is on display, but the film shows so little of the man actually leading it becomes hard to root for him as a cultural icon of our time. There are some indications of a painful home life, but these are not explored well – more like stereotypical inserts to try to get us to care. Freeman apparently does a good imitation of the man (who realy knows?), but is given no particular acting challenges. Perhaps the stunningly, agonizingly slow cantor of his speech is true to life, but it doesn’t make a good choice for a director who’s picture (already too long) is being drawn out by the spaces between his character’s words. Eastwood’s choices are so poor that he allows a lengthy dialogue between Mandella and his assistant in which he pledges to memorize the name of each member of the team as a sign of good will and later, once meeting them, we see him shaking hands, calling a few by name and saying, “Good luck, son” to the rest.
It’s a bad sports movie because the sport is not well explained, the team is not well developed, their struggle is poorly depicted and their triumph understated. Until the trophy was presented, I honestly thought the championship game was a semi-final. The thuggish enemy opponent is clearly drawn and easily defeated. If the team itself overcomes obstacles they are hard to pin down. Damon, in the role of team captain, may also be playing true to life, but the character he is portraying is frightfully undramatic. Twice he is to carry the emotion of the team along and both times he simply mutters a single line like, “So think about that” and walks out of the room! When in the huddle and we think he will forcefully and emotionally evoke the title poem, he does not. Unfortunately, Damon is to be the heart and soul of the film, but;
It’s a bad inspirational movie because it literally drops the sentiment off to the side. At one point the uncouth rugby team travels to the prison where Mandella was unjustly incarcerated for years, only to treat the side trip as a blythe walk through a museum. There is no great weight here. Matt Damon has visions of Mandella’s character but is stoic (either by choice or direction) and doesn’t have much to say. There’s no enlightenment visible in his face – and we don’t even see the other team members’ enough to decide. The theme of the movie, therefore, is supposed to be transferred to us later in the film as Damon looks out over the city at dawn, supposedly contemplating his big sporting challenge only to reveal he’s been thinking about the awesome heart of President Mandella. It’s a non sequitur to say the least.
And speaking of that – how do you give a best directing nod to someone who edits in a helicopter sequence in which the president is going to visit the team to wish them good luck (again!) which pops on the screen like a shampoo commercial, complete with rock anthem. It’s as if the song is by his daughter-in-law and he promised to stick it in there “somewhere.” The rest of the soundtrack is jazz (him playing piano, I presume), yet jammed in here is this odd sequence. Oh, and he doesn’t say the player’s names this time, either.
It’s a bad thriller. Going in you might not think it was meant to be, but Eastwood spends so much time with this subplot and its characters that there must be something going on. Bodyguards are constantly meeting, exclaiming, fretting and arguing about the President’s fate. But no threat actually arrives. Has no one in charge of award nominations noticed one of the stupidest sequences of the year is in this movie? As the big game is about to begin, he cuts to the interior of an approaching jumbo jet and tries to get us to believe the rogue pilot is going to dive bomb the stadium. Cue the rousing music! Sequentially cut to the faces of the body guards looking alarmed but unable to act! Cut back to the plane! Then the unsuspecting Mandella! Ugh! So pat and quiet possibly the worst visual effect of the year when the plane has a near miss (I mean laughable the way that plane looks like it was pasted in there using my MacPro’s hard drive). The film could have lost this entire side line and it would have been 3o minutes welcomed on the cutting room floor. A simple scene depicting the tension between the white and black members of the guard early; then a scene of them 75 minutes later playing rugby in the yard is all that’s needed from them!
It’s a bad nationalistic movie, because the tensions of the country are never well depicted nor resolved. The best sequence in the film (though also cliche) is when the brutish rugby players must set aside their goals (apparently they really are eager to win, we just never get to see this) and enter the slums to teach children about the game. Here are the shots of the whites and blacks coming together through sport. And, apparently, the repressed blacks did rally around the all white team during the World Cup. Eastwood’s shots of this phenomenon are so lame, so static and still so bizarrely separatist. If there is unification besides the fact that everybody jumps up and down at the same time, it is lost on us.
So, how do you embrace a movie that tries to be so much and fails. In my opinion you don’t. In fact, you shouldn’t be honoring it at all, nor spending money or time to see it.
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