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“I want to see America soar again,” says Steve Carrell’s eerie John DuPont at the beginning of Foxcatcher. In a film as finely nuanced as this, the wordplay here does not go unchecked — the tragedy resulting from agreeing to train the Olympic wrestling team at the Foxcatcher estate on the request of the strange billionaire John DuPont was to leave the country sore and shaken. Yet even those familiar with the trajectory of the film, which follows the true story of the wrestlers Mark and Dave Schultz, will be taken in by the remarkable blend of subtlety and clarity with which it progresses. Nothing in the film is superfluous — its resonance lies not in its conclusion but in its careful execution. Director Benedict Miller impressively negotiates the large American themes explored in the action, yet for all its elegant dealings, Foxcatcher is primarily a film about isolation that tends to the universal in its grand scale. Its exploration of notions of class, wealth and family are pitched very nicely against the great all-encompassing loneliness at its core.
Channing Tatum and Steve Carell both excel in their respective roles as Mark Schultz and John DuPont, as does Mark Ruffalo as Mark’s brother Dave. The ornithology obsessed billionaire DuPont is played with unsettling gravitas: while the painful social inadequacies of the character are obvious, Carell still manages to deploy a sense of impenetrability to DuPont which increases with every scene. The petulant air of unpredictability that he inhabits so well grows more and more disturbing during the film’s stately progression. Tatum gives a superbly controlled performance, impressive not just for its discipline but its physicality — and his scenes with Mark Ruffalo are masterful in conveying the relationship between two brothers with a deep sensitivity. Both their wrestling fights and brotherly embraces are perfectly pitched between intimacy and violence. These supremely choreographed wrestling scenes also serve as a powerful portrayal of a fraternal dynamic — when the Schultz brothers wrestle, the metaphor retains its poignancy without ever becoming heavy-handed.
The film shows a remarkable self-control, carefully laying out the issues without forcing inferences — instead gently cajoling its own possible conclusions from what is explored. The power of implication is very cleverly wielded throughout the film: the oft-touted sexual dynamic between mentor and mentee is never fully realised, and this is definitely intentional; the film does not set out to explore this, but rather leaves the implication hanging subtly in the background. It is hyper-aware of absence — even the wrestling victories are definitively devoid of jubilance, presented not so much as victories but as absences of failure. The lack of father-figures, inhabited so poorly by DuPont and his utter lack of charisma, is explored neatly by his inadequacies not just as a coach but as a motivator and mentor, and paralleled nicely with DuPont’s own uneasy relationship with his mother.
The film retains a sense of timelessness born of isolation — the music is carefully and astutely chosen, subtle instrumental pieces that accentuate the loneliness. After one victory, the wrestlers celebrate with David Bowie’s Fame — one of the only contemporary music references allowed to creep in — before DuPont abruptly orders it to be shut off so he can deliver an uncomfortable toast. Bob Dylan’s beautifully understated rendition of This Land Is Your Land is another well chosen song that resonates while DuPont gazes impassively over his estate that overlooks Valley Forge, in a static shot of lonely expansiveness that jars very nicely with the adrenaline of the crowd scenes at the wrestling matches.
Even aware of the film’s ending, the revelation comes as a surprise. Although the film masterfully wields unease, adding layer upon layer of tension, the shock of the conclusion still resonates. Meticulously made and masterfully executed, Foxcatcher blends all its elements with a chilling smoothness to its intensely sad conclusion.
