Foxcatcher was, for me, the most emotionally brutal film of this year. Director Bennett Miller turns his uniquely intense gaze to the already horrific story of the Schultz brothers' interaction with John du Pont. Besides the actual events of their relationship -- culminating in the brutal murder in 1996 -- Miller's film concerns the dynamics of modern American athletes and coaches, sports and their patrons, men and their rivals, men and their friends, determination and pride, perseverance and mental instability, history and fate, and even wealth and status. For a film with a presumably straightforward premise, Miller complicates his presentation with fifty shades of everything. Typical, if you all remember Capote (2005).
Our three leads soar in this, and though their Oscar recognition might come in second to the more accessible, more emotionally rote films this year, their performances rocked my world. Channing Tatum -- whose acting has always worked for me, so I don't know why lots of high-brow-ers refuse to give him much credit -- delivers a knockout work that must be the dramatic peak of his career so far. Deeply introverted, surly and childlike, his movement work for Mark Schultz is so transformative that I forgot I was watching "Magic Mike" and not a real, cauliflower-eared wrestler. Likewise, Steve Carell disappears into his haunting portrayal of John du Pont (only partly due to his incredible makeup) and proves yet again that comedians can indeed excel in weighty drama. Mark Ruffalo, forever the perfect supporting actor in his chameleonlike ability to embody his character and counter the emotional strength of his scene partners, is a wonderful big brother to Tatum and a suitable unwitting antagonist of sorts between Tatum and Carell.
The du Pont estate, palatial and extravagant, provides ample atmosphere for excess and moral decadence as lines become blurred between pride and power. Du Pont seeks glory from his star Mark Schultz (Tatum), and desires his brother Dave (Ruffalo) to join them. Mark is precariously placed between great favor and great disappointment as he pushes himself to excel on his own terms, until his brother caves to du Pont's pressure and joins the team. As much as Mark needs money and craves success, his financially comfortable brother Dave tries to be a family man. But both end up biting du Pont's greenbacked lure and moving in to the vast Foxcatcher estate, where life turns into a continuous training regimen. The lines between coach and father, brother and rival, professional and personal quickly get erased.
We are presented with a uniquely homosocial environment, and Miller does not shy away from a moment of its implications. Wrestling, an especially intimate sport with no shortage of erotic suggestion, is shown in all its complexity without beating us over the head with its technical intricacies (in other words, this isn't your typical sports film that wastes so much time telling you how the sport works in real life). Instead, wrestling in the film becomes more about what it looks and feels like: an uncomfortable, erotic, and violent power play between two men. Outside the gym walls, the relationships between Mark, Dave, and du Pont is almost no different, as du Pont actively points out when he says multiple times that he wants to be more than a coach to his boys. Du Pont, for all his villainous psychopathy, is due some sympathy as we see him wrestle (ha) with a perceived inconsistency between wealth and success and between family heritage and independent pride. Vanessa Redgrave graces a few scenes as the primary vehicle for du Pont's problems, his disappointed mother, who expresses her disdain for the "low sport" and her fierce pride in family heritage over her own son.
I could wax effusive for hours, but don't just take my word for it. Go see it, and don't spend your strength right away -- you'll need it for round three.
IMDb: Foxcatcher
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