The standard dictionary defines “mentor” as “a wise and respected teacher.” I doubt if any of us would have any quarrel with that definition, as long as we allow for those who teach by example, those who give instruction or enlightenment to others perhaps without even being aware of it, outside of a formal classroom. I have to say that most of the mentors who have influenced me fall into this latter group. However the teaching gets done, surely both qualities are desired of the one instructing – “wise” and “trusted.” One without the other leaves us either of two things: a teacher who has the academic qualifications, one who “knows her/his stuff,” as the expression goes, but is difficult to approach, is cranky and shifty and maybe even dishonest; or it leaves us with an instruction giver who is sincere and likeable a personality and easy to relate to but lacking in the fine points of the subject, perhaps even misinformed about some of them, one who only pretends to know the score.
Two absorbing motion pictures are now in circulation that demonstrate how disastrous mentoring can turn, when the element of trust is either missing or abused. The two are vastly different in style and dramatic approach, but I thought they would make a good pairing
“Foxcatcher”(2hrs & 14 min, color, 2014) is the true story of Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum), a young wrestler who struggles to come out on top, both literally and figuratively, and entrusts his body and mind and heart to a wealthy, multimillionaire trainer (Steve Carell) who opens vast doors for him but finally betrays his pupil’s trust. The betrayal takes quite some while to come to light and causes him great heartbreak and conflict. It even implicates Mark’s brother Dave (Mark Raffalo) ever so painfully.
“Whiplash” (1 hr & 47 min, color, 2014) concerns a young music student Andrew (Miles Teller) in a music conservatory, a jazz drummer, who tangles with a hard driving, bullish, despotic, ironhanded brute of a music school instructor named Terence Fletcher (J. K. Simmons). The severe, ego-driven man’s tactics almost drive the kid to a nervous breakdown.
Let us take a closer look at each film.
“Whiplash,” whatever else it is, will bring a heap of pleasure and heady excitement to jazz aficionados. But do not be misled: this is not a musical exactly; only two whole jazz compositions are played all the way through. It is a clash of wills and wits that will stir up your blood until you may fear that you are being driven to that breakdown. It will certainly increase the blood pressure for the space of the picture. But the issues concerning those who push to excel and what it takes to excel are given a smart and clear cut airing out, filtered through the strong personalities of the two antagonists. At times one gets the feeling that it actually is a fight to the death, considering that there are deaths people die that precede the final one. Andrew finds himself under attack in more respects than one.
Fletcher is a most despicable individual – a crass, swearing, insulting, physically abusive, downright cruel slave driver as an instructor. He conducts his practice sessions in the manner one would expect of a Marine drill sergeant whipping his trainees into combat shape. He reminds me of Lou Gossett, Jr. in the early 1980s drama “An Officer and a Gentleman.” Only Fletcher is far worse. At moments you might want to strangle him. But he is unquestionably a study. If he were not, the film would be without bark or bite and without merit. Simmons won a quite deserving Oscar for this performance.
This pompous man, if he were real and not fictitious, should be required to spend a month at least observing the work of symphony orchestra conductor James Levine, who has been supervising singers and musicians for over forty years and now conducts from a wheelchair. Recently 60 Minutes did a study of him, a man who has gotten nothing short of supreme excellence out of everyone who has worked under him. He is known for his trusting and patient and supportive manner of leadership. Unlike the Fletchers of this world, he never screams, never goes into raging fits to make points, but he gets the same, if not better, results.
Teller holds his own as the harassed, victimized pupil. He is something of a study too. He is every mother’s and father’s child who sweats, struggles, and battles the odds to make that breakthrough, much deserved in his case as we come to see quite early in the game. It is his superior talent that wins our hearts and makes us allies in his fight with the dragon. Top directing and writing are furnished by Darien Chazner. And orchids to the film editors!
Mark Schultz, at 27, in “Foxcatcher” is an Olympic Gold wrestling winner as is his brother Dave. But Mark despite his past victory comes across as a lonely, melancholy, reclusive man with few if any real friends, other than Dave, who is his current trainer at the start of the movie. Such a man teetering on the thin line between self-confidence and professional worry about his future turns out to be an easy prey for John DuPont, heir to the famous DuPont fortune, who has the money and the prestige with which to entice the guy into his Wrestling establishment, John being himself an accomplished trainer. But this benefactor is a haunted man underneath, a disguised paranoid schizophrenic, a smoldering psyche that both Schultz brothers eventually suffer from.
Most films about wrestlers and boxers are high charged affairs, working their audiences up into a fever pitch, with lots of slugging and punching and thudding and crashing and down-to-the-wire combating. Not so this time! In contrast to “Whiplash” the payoff is slower but in my estimation more penetrating. Carell (Oscar nominee), who altered his face with an enlargement to his nose to better resemble the factual man he plays, is not brute force. He delivers lines that have DuPont saying most all of the right and proper things that a supportive trainer would and should say to a trainee, but with an unsmiling face, with cold, grim-looking eyes that hint at a double meaning. He will give you chills. Something is stirring beneath that apparently benign countenance. Let the buyer buy, but beware!
Bennett Miller’s direction, supported by a screenplay by E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman, is a work of well seasoned artistry. The pace is slow, but for me it works that way. He never exploits the wrestling matches for their ringside thrills. In fact, we never actually see an entire match, only highlights. He distances us from the big arena, no sweeping shots of audiences. The story is in the chemistry between the characters, with dialogue restrained; much of what is being communicated comes through the faces or body language or gestures. Actions speak volumes.
One thing I especially like is the tight bond between the brothers, who really do care for and about each other, until the shadowy influence of DuPont intervenes. The DuPont estate is portrayed as a somewhat mysterious environment. One seems to be welcome, but can one be sure? John’s mother (Vanessa Redgrave), who keeps a stable of horses and prides herself on trophies of her own for horsemanship in chasing foxes, stays aloof most of the time and extends no hospitality to any of the men residing on her estate. Her equestrian business is what bears the name Foxcatcher; son John takes over the name when he forms his athletic empire. In one bold scene she tells her son what she thinks of this “low sport” in which he is engaged, but even that exchange is not clamorous. The lack of passion and affection between the two is chilling, but it too speaks volumes.
John Dupont’s psychosis finally breaks out of its cage. The film turns out to be a low-keyed tragedy, not a sports spectacular, leaving much to mystery and wonderment. It probably is not a general audience vehicle. But I loved every moment of it, both times I watched. It is made with a kind of cinematic subtlety that we do not see enough of.
To read other entries in my blog, please consult its website: enspiritus.blogspot.com. To learn about me consult on the website the blog entry for August 9, 2013.
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