I just watched Clint Eastwood’s new film on South Africa’s victory in the 1995 rugby World Cup, one year after the country’s first democratic elections. Invictus (the title comes from an inspirational Victorian poem) stars Matt Damon as François Pienaar, captain of the Springboks, and Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela. Based on John Carlin’s book Playing the Enemy, it’s pretty good for a sports movie, a genre not usually associated with great cinematography.
The basics: thanks to Mandela’s stewardship, an all-white team (with one exception) goes from representing a sport synonymous with white supremacy to embodying the seemingly boundless potential of the postapartheid “rainbow nation.” There are some good moments. Like the team’s surprise visit to Robben Island prison, where the apartheid regime imprisoned Mandela and many other black activists during the country’s struggle for freedom. Props to Damon’s rugby moves, which are almost as good as his Afrikaans-inflected English, and to Freeman for closely matching Madiba’s physical movements and cadence. I enjoyed some of the sporting action as well, particularly the camera shots from inside the scrums.
Regrettably, sentimentality and cheesy music weaken the film. The lack of historical context and the refusal to develop any of the film’s characters (except Madiba) are also striking. We never get to know where the players come from, what their lives are like, and what happens to them after The Game. Same goes for the black and white bodyguards — a constituency usually at center stage only in movies such as In The Line of Fire and its ilk. While the final scenes project the fiction that 1995 transformed rugby from a white-dominated sport to a fully integrated one, the truth is much less uplifting. But then again, this is Hollywood history.
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