4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, drug use and violence
By Derrick Bang
The über-rich haven’t been this
creepy since 1990’s Reversal of Fortune.
And that was based on a true
story, as well.
 |
| John Du Pont (Steve Carell, left) knows precisely how to inspire the impressionable Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum), and for a time the weathy older man seems well-meaning, if a bit daft. But this relationship dynamic is about to turn very, very uncomfortable. |
Foxcatcher is director Bennett Miller’s
highly unsettling account of wealthy heir John du Pont’s bewildering (to the
outside world) decision to position himself as head coach, trainer and sponsor
of the U.S. wrestling team hoping to qualify for the 1988 Seoul Olympics. This
scheme is granted public legitimacy when brothers Mark and Dave Schultz are
dragged into du Pont’s ludicrous, vanity-laden quest, accelerating an already
uncomfortable sibling dynamic that becomes increasingly toxic.
Disaster is inevitable; the only
question is what form the crisis will take.
Miller excels at getting the best
from his casts, and he’s noted for guiding actors to Oscar nominations — and
wins — in compelling, character-driven slices of history. Both Philip Seymour
Hoffman and Catherine Keener earned well-deserved nominations for Capote; Hoffman went home with the
prize. Brad Pitt never looked better than he was in Moneyball, and Miller worked a modern miracle by orchestrating
goofball Jonah Hill’s transformation into a serious actor.
But it’s equally important to
note that Miller surrounds himself with some of Hollywood’s most skilled
writers, who also earned Academy Award nominations (respectively) for their
work on Capote and Moneyball. I’ve absolutely no doubt that
E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman will garner similar praise for their insidiously
subtle, squirm-inducing depiction of what emerged as the late 1980s’ most
bizarre sports scandal.
But it’s hard to detect the
fine-tuned screenplay right away, because of the almost scary degree to which
this film’s three stars inhabit their respective roles. They’re all excellent,
crossing that threshold where we often forget the actor playing the part, and
wholly accept that we’ve somehow been transported back in time, and granted a
window on the activities of these actual people.
Dave and younger brother Mark
Schultz were heroes at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, both taking gold medals
in different weight classes of men’s freestyle wrestling; they also took world
golds at, respectively, Kiev (1983) and Budapest (1985).
They’re played here by Mark Ruffalo
(almost unrecognizable) and Channing Tatum. The film’s narrative catches them
during the early build-up to Seoul, and their circumstances couldn’t be more
different. As often is the case with siblings, their personalities are wholly
distinct. Dave radiates calm, confidence and authority; Mark, although
idolizing his older brother, chafes at being in his shadow.
Dave is happily married — Sienna
Miller plays his wife, Nancy, whom we see infrequently but significantly — and is
devoted to their two children. He runs a gym and has contracts to train
wrestlers; he’s also helping Mark with a daily work-out regimen. Dave and his
family don’t live ostentatiously, but they’re clearly comfortable and content.
Mark, in stark contrast, leads a
pauper’s existence in a threadbare apartment, taking inspirational speaking
gigs at local grade schools in exchange for $20 checks that go toward meager
ramen noodle dinners.
Dave also is somewhat smarter and
wiser than the oddly immature Mark, and Tatum’s depiction of this ingenuousness
is fascinating. It’s as if thoughts and concepts struggle to emerge from Mark’s
brain; we can almost watch the slow journey made by each word, as it struggles
to reach Tatum’s lips. Nothing we’ve seen in the young actor’s popcorn-laden
résumé thus far would suggest his ability to express this level of emotional
complexity; it’s a bravura, career-enhancing performance.
And not the only one.
The gullible Mark is easy
pickings for du Pont (Steve Carell), who approaches out of the blue one day, offering
to gift the struggling wrestler with financial resources and a state-of-the-art
training facility at Foxcatcher Farm, thus far devoted primarily to the stable
of world-class horses overseen by du Pont’s mother, Jean (Vanessa Redgrave).
It’s an irresistible opportunity, and Mark couldn’t begin to refuse.
Carell’s performance is similarly
transformative, and not merely because the actor is somewhat concealed beneath
significant facial prosthetics. John du Pont also is a slow talker, but for
entirely different reasons. He wears assumed authority like a set of clothes:
the quiet arrogance of ultra-powerful individuals who are accustomed to being
obeyed and tolerated, no matter what.
In a word, Carell is chilling; we
soon perceive that John du Pont is a complete fruit bat. He has all manner of
unhealthy fixations — with guns, with his mother’s approval (never granted) —
and now has positioned himself to indulge latent homo-erotic inclinations by,
what else, becoming a wrestling coach. Needless to say, he’s wholly unqualified
for such a role; the very idea is preposterous. But that doesn’t stop him.
Poor Mark, desperately in need of
a father figure who isn’t his older
brother, can’t help but succumb. And, for a time, it looks as though du Pont’s
sponsorship — no matter how unlikely — might be a good thing. But that doesn’t
last long, because whatever his other deficiencies, du Pont is a reasonable
judge of character ... and he eventually realizes that he picked the wrong
Schultz brother.
Trouble is, Dave has no desire to
uproot his family.
Trouble is, nobody refuses John du Pont. He simply won’t permit it.
All sorts of themes roil in the
resulting, increasingly uncomfortable dynamic: bitter sibling rivalry, various
parent/child issues, the seduction of the innocent. The combustible brew is
fueled further by all three actors, who exude verisimilitude to a degree not
often seen on the big screen.
Ruffalo, though seemingly given
the least showy character, imbues Dave with a touching blend of serenity and
compassion. We see this constantly, and marvel each time at the delicacy of
Ruffalo’s performance. Watch his face, very early on, during a warm-up session when
Dave guides Mark through limbering exercises: the former coaxing results from
the latter the way a parent would encourage a very young and impressionable
child.
Or later, during a revealing
chat, once Dave has begun to recognize that the relationship between Mark and
John du Pont is far less than healthy. Dave probes but extracts little from his
younger brother; Ruffalo gets so much
mileage from the way he nods, measures his words, glances off to one side.
Actually, that’s the genius of
Miller’s approach: It takes a very
brave director to build performances from silent moments, and equally courageous
actors to trust in their ability to deliver such hushed character intricacy.
This film is filled with quiet, contemplative scenes, with cinematographer
Greig Fraser’s camera slowly pulling in for a tight focus on an actor’s face.
Equally important, all these bits
of film are assembled superbly by editors Jay Cassidy, Stuart Levy and Conor
O’Neill.
Redgrave’s Jean du Pont doesn’t
appear much in this story, and she gets no more than a few curt sentences of
dialogue; rest assured, they land like physical blows on her son’s face, even
though Carell’s reaction goes no further than his suddenly smoldering eyes.
The other sorta/kinda key player
in this drama is Anthony Michael Hall, as du Pont’s assistance, Jack: an
occasional go-between from John to Mark. This is the one character who could
have benefited from a bit more exposure; we’ve no real clue about Jack —
whether he’s motivated by money, loyalty or something else — and we really need
to understand him better, in light of what eventually goes down.
Production designer Jess
Gonchor’s efforts are terrific, particularly in terms of contrasting Mark’s
initially seedy surroundings with the outrageously opulent Foxcatcher mansion
... which, despite its palatial allure, carries an odd undertone of moral
decay.
Much of what actually went down throughout
the year covered by this drama will remain forever unknown, of course, because
so much occurred behind closed doors, during private moments with pairs of
these three characters, and sometimes all three of them. We can’t help being
fascinated by what drives John du Pont to this delusional flight of sports
fancy; we also have all sorts of
questions for Dave, given decisions he eventually makes.
But however these
behind-the-scenes details actually occurred, scripters Frye and Futterman build
an absolutely convincing case. The result is both mesmerizing and deeply, deeply disturbing: a persuasive
depiction of power’s ability to corrupt absolutely, and the heartbreaking
collateral damage that often results.
As with the wholly fictitious Whiplash — and what are the odds that we’d
get two unhealthy mentor/student dramas at the same time? — Foxcatcher is a profoundly distressing
viewing experience.
But boy, you won’t forget it any
time soon.
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