
Thanks to Doug Strassler for reminding me that Invictus should have been on my list of the worst movies I saw this year. Here’s the entry I forgot to write…
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Invictus
You remember how I was worried that this movie was going to be sanctimonious? And that it would mash complex questions of racial relationships in South Africa into tasteless, colorless pabulum? I was totally prescient, you guys.
The way Clint Eastwood directs (and the way his writers write), it’s like they’re smart guys, but they think we’re too stupid to hold up our end of a conversation. So they use sophisticated camera techniques and highly polished scripts to make the most simplistic points imaginable… like they’re doing us a damn favor by introducing our tiny minds to concepts like racial inequality or parental grief or lady boxerdom.
I will give Invictus this, however… it provides me with an image that encapsulates why I generally hate Eastwood’s movies. Now, I don’t have to explain my loathing any more. I can just describe this image and be done with it.
In the movie’s final moments, you see, when the South African rugby team wins the World Cup, thus uniting the nation’s races around a common sport and helping Nelson Mandela start the process of healing, we see a shot of Matt Damon holding his team’s trophy. Then we get a close-up of his white hand on the trophy. And then we see a black hand slide into the frame, gripping Damon’s hand and the trophy at the same time.
And then we get a wave of nausea. Or at least I do.
That pretty much sums up my response to Eastwood’s humorless, pompous inistence on “teaching me” what I’ve known since I was in utero. The man is a talented filmmaker, but other than with Changeling, he’s never applied his talent to anything that respects me the way the critical community clearly wants me to respect him.