Foxcatcher - film review

The American soul is a frightening thing. Foxcatcher, a truth-based blend of sporting drama and psychological thriller, may be the best - and most obliquely subtle - exploration of it in modern cinema. Pulled between matriarchy and patriarchy, between the gleam of pioneer idealism and the blighting moral overspend of world-policing, America is a brilliant achiever with a tortured past. And possibly an even more tortured present.

The gospel of patriotism is urged, early, on his Olympic wrestlers by John du Pont, the chemicals dynasty heir turned athletics coach and patron. In the build-up to the 1988 Seoul games du Pont really did turn over a part of the family estate - Foxcatcher Farm - as a training centre to fulfil his dream of national sporting glory. He is played, superbly, by a barely recognisable Steve Carell. Skullcap-like hair; hooked nose; high-whine voice; gait like a panther with piles.

This macabre do-gooder takes charge of his wrestling stars, led by Schultz brothers Mark (Channing Tatum) and Dave (Mark Ruffalo), in a manner sometimes reminding us of the way Norman Bates took charge of motel clients in Psycho. Foxcatcher isn't a horror film, except in a deep and subtle sense. But du Pont has a dominant mother, played by a creepily cooing Vanessa Redgrave. And his unpredictable behaviour - hatred of horses (mum's pets), playing with guns - starts to freak out his top man, Mark Schultz, though not before eerie hints of a cuddlier patronage have put Mark through bottle-blond hair and gym-room favouritism.

The film ends ugly, as did the real events. But it isn't the murderous pay-off, it's the play-off that's mesmerising. We believe that du Pont believes his own greatness-of-America guff, though Carell barely raises his voice. Scarier still is our uncertainty about where his quiet manias are leading.

Director Bennett Miller made Capote and Moneyball. He knows about American sport, whether it's the blood sport of a famous author investigating a murder or the blander ballyhoo of the baseball bleachers. But nothing is really bland in America. Alfred Hitchcock and David Lynch have taught us that already. With Foxcatcher Miller joins them. High praise, but not too high for this spellbinding film.

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