-By Ethan Alter
For movie details, please click here.
At first glance, filmmaker James Toback and ex-heavyweight champ
Mike Tyson might not seem like obvious candidates to be BFFs. But
these two men, who first worked together a decade ago on Toback's
1999 film
Black and White, have more in common then you might
think. Both love to talk (in fact, one can only imagine what their
private conversations must sound like—do they take turns delivering
lengthy monologues or just speak over each other the whole time?),
both have battled addictions (gambling for Toback, drugs for
Tyson), and both are unlikely ladies' men. Both are also, it must
be said, raging egomaniacs who will happily spend hours discussing
their triumphs and failures, even if all you've asked them is "Do
you have the time?"
Tyson previously sang his buddy's praises as a talking head in
2005's
The Outsider, Nicholas Jarecki's overly flattering
portrait of the writer-director of such curios as
Fingers,
Harvard Man and
When Will I Be Loved. Now, Toback returns the favor by
helming
Tyson, a 90-minute confessional designed to let the
onetime boxing great provide the definitive account of his
rags-to-riches story. As the subject of numerous unflattering,
unauthorized biographies over the years, it makes sense that Tyson
would want to set the historical record straight. And it's
undeniably compelling to hear this man—who is best known these days
for biting his opponents' ears off in the ring—speak so openly
about his troubled childhood, his past mistakes and the fears and
self-doubts that he wrestles with every day. Toback compresses his
subject's life into a brisk 90 minutes and fleshes out his
extensive interviews with Tyson with some gripping archival footage
from his fights as well as some rarely seen shots of him in
training.
The one thing that Toback doesn't do—and it's the thing that winds
up KO'ing his film—is interview anyone who might be able to
corroborate or challenge Tyson's version of events. To be fair,
Tyson isn't exactly billing itself as an objective
documentary. Toback and Tyson (who is also credited as an executive
producer) clearly intend for the film to be the cinematic
equivalent of one of those unfiltered, tell-all memoirs that
retired athletes often write long after their glory days are behind
them.
As long as he's discussing his fights or his well-documented
relationship with legendary trainer Cus D'Amato, Tyson seems on
steady ground. Where both he and the film become unreliable,
though, are in the sections that deal with his problematic personal
life and history of abusive relationships with women. Not
surprisingly, Tyson is reluctant to talk about any of this in
detail, particularly his 1992 rape conviction, which sent him to
prison for three years. The only statement Tyson offers about the
incident is to deny that it ever took place—although he doesn't
miss the opportunity to describe his accuser in truly unflattering
terms. Another director might have at least tried to make Tyson
work harder to defend his sketchy account, but Toback lets his
friend off the hook and instead allows the conversation to turn to
how hard life was for him in prison.
Thanks to moments like this,
Tyson ultimately feels like
less of a corrective to some of the more corrosive Iron Mike
biographies on the market than a bid to rewrite history in favor of
the ex-champ. The truth about the complex, contradictory individual
that is Mike Tyson clearly lies somewhere in between these two
extremes. That's fertile ground for a documentary filmmaker to
explore, but it should done by some someone who doesn't have the
subject's number programmed into his cell-phone's speed dial.
Film Review: Tyson
Despite some compelling moments, this one-sided portrait of former boxing superstar Mike Tyson feels like a missed opportunity.
April 16, 2009
-By Ethan Alter
For movie details, please click here.
At first glance, filmmaker James Toback and ex-heavyweight champ Mike Tyson might not seem like obvious candidates to be BFFs. But these two men, who first worked together a decade ago on Toback's 1999 film
Black and White, have more in common then you might think. Both love to talk (in fact, one can only imagine what their private conversations must sound like—do they take turns delivering lengthy monologues or just speak over each other the whole time?), both have battled addictions (gambling for Toback, drugs for Tyson), and both are unlikely ladies' men. Both are also, it must be said, raging egomaniacs who will happily spend hours discussing their triumphs and failures, even if all you've asked them is "Do you have the time?"
Tyson previously sang his buddy's praises as a talking head in 2005's
The Outsider, Nicholas Jarecki's overly flattering portrait of the writer-director of such curios as
Fingers,
Harvard Man and
When Will I Be Loved. Now, Toback returns the favor by helming
Tyson, a 90-minute confessional designed to let the onetime boxing great provide the definitive account of his rags-to-riches story. As the subject of numerous unflattering, unauthorized biographies over the years, it makes sense that Tyson would want to set the historical record straight. And it's undeniably compelling to hear this man—who is best known these days for biting his opponents' ears off in the ring—speak so openly about his troubled childhood, his past mistakes and the fears and self-doubts that he wrestles with every day. Toback compresses his subject's life into a brisk 90 minutes and fleshes out his extensive interviews with Tyson with some gripping archival footage from his fights as well as some rarely seen shots of him in training.
The one thing that Toback doesn't do—and it's the thing that winds up KO'ing his film—is interview anyone who might be able to corroborate or challenge Tyson's version of events. To be fair,
Tyson isn't exactly billing itself as an objective documentary. Toback and Tyson (who is also credited as an executive producer) clearly intend for the film to be the cinematic equivalent of one of those unfiltered, tell-all memoirs that retired athletes often write long after their glory days are behind them.
As long as he's discussing his fights or his well-documented relationship with legendary trainer Cus D'Amato, Tyson seems on steady ground. Where both he and the film become unreliable, though, are in the sections that deal with his problematic personal life and history of abusive relationships with women. Not surprisingly, Tyson is reluctant to talk about any of this in detail, particularly his 1992 rape conviction, which sent him to prison for three years. The only statement Tyson offers about the incident is to deny that it ever took place—although he doesn't miss the opportunity to describe his accuser in truly unflattering terms. Another director might have at least tried to make Tyson work harder to defend his sketchy account, but Toback lets his friend off the hook and instead allows the conversation to turn to how hard life was for him in prison.
Thanks to moments like this,
Tyson ultimately feels like less of a corrective to some of the more corrosive Iron Mike biographies on the market than a bid to rewrite history in favor of the ex-champ. The truth about the complex, contradictory individual that is Mike Tyson clearly lies somewhere in between these two extremes. That's fertile ground for a documentary filmmaker to explore, but it should done by some someone who doesn't have the subject's number programmed into his cell-phone's speed dial.