Being a biopic, a sports picture and a film led by two actors whom have, for all intents and purposes, never been the focal point of any of any of their films (yes, I realize I am implying that Hemsworth is not the focal point of
Thor), Ron Howard's latest film has a number of barriers to overcome. Complicating matters, I cannot care less for sports of any kind, so watching two diametrically opposed gearheads duke it out for racing gold sounds deathly dull to me. Fortunately,
Rush is not only gifted with a very talented team behind the camera, but it also has a pretty damn smart script, courtesy of Peter Morgan, that consistently finds the compelling human element and ways to comment on productive rivalries. Most sports films of the same ilk have a tendency to feel tonally incoherent, as if all the "real life" stuff interferes from the genre thrills, and vice versa. This, on the other hand, comes charging at you, birthed with limitless energy and the required formal chops to balance the many wildly spinning plates—
Rush has both brains and brawn.
At the offset, the copious empty stares (signifying the years of competition that have defined these racer's lives) and swaths of portentous exposition suggested a sports film no different than any other; a "Rocky and Drago" dynamic transposed onto a Formula One setting. At one end of the spectrum you have Chris Hemsworth's English working-class hero in James Hunt that vomits before each race. At the other, you have the smarmy Niki Louda (Daniel Bruhl, best known for his portrayal of Nazi war hero Frederick Zoller in
Inglourious Basterds) whom was born into the Austrian elite. The stage is all set for a rivalry thrill-ride, but at each turn, Rush surprises by transcending it's genre limitations. Howard and Morgan (whom also penned the script for
Frost/Nixon) have their eyes set on something significantly larger than providing escapist fare (which it delivers anyway in the bushel-full).
The greens, golden yellows and bright reds that comprise each racing track are painted in lush deeply-saturated brush strokes, often coupled with the visually stimulating effect of soft focus. Anthony Dod Mantle continues his 2013 winning streak. His extraordinary shooting talents were last seen in Danny Boyle's
Trance. But it is in the cutting where the film becomes truly notable. Editors Daniel P. Hanley and Mike Hill handle Mantle's cinematography like true pros. Darting from place to place—coach to audience to racer and countless other variations, theres's such an attention to detail here. The occasional extreme close-up of pistons firing, shifting of gears, and wheels kissing the pavement really make the film's bold title a natural extension of the frenetic wonder on display. The film flurries about at such a furious rate because there is simply too much to capture, not because there is any deficiency in the production or incoherence in the staging. Even without the crutch of a super seventies soundtrack comprised of Dave Edmunds, Steve Winwood, Thin Lizzy, David Bowie, Slade and Jimmy Cliff; the film would still be absolutely engaging on a formal level. There is not a shot wasted in one of the most luminous films of Howard's career.
In keeping with this efficiency, characters are allowed to be defined through their actions. No third party is interjected to spoonfeed us what we need to know. We are plunged head-first into the action; we see Niki Louda erect his empire from the ground up—first by taking out a large loan after his wealthy father rejects his request for funding, then by bartering his way into a much coveted spot with the Ferrari team. Sporting custom magnesium parts, his racecar is endowed with over a two second lead on all other challengers. The owner of the team has no other option but to accept him. Niki Louda is a racing genuis with a keen sense for the road. In one comic scene, his sensitive butt (or so he claims) predicts the car troubles his girlfriend will soon have.
Rush balances all these shifts in tone as smoothly as Louda does a high-speed gear shift.
So after a flurry of team swaps and and conrnerstone life events, the two meet during the 1976 Formula One season. It is here where Ron Howard pulls out all the stops and mines the story for its depth. He gets what the story is about beneath the glossy exterior. It becomes much more than a topical retelling of an all-consuming rivalry where the racing gold is the be-all-end-all of competition. As the title implies, the drive, the goings-on in between each championship is of the most importance. This idea blossoms in the stretches of the film after the accident at the German Grand Prix leaves Niki hospitalized from severe burns.
Rush sharpens its focus to the ways these two men value fierce competition and channel its innate power to shapen one's resolve like a glassblower.
At the first press conference since Louda's accident, in one of the many convention upending scenes, Hunt takes it upon himself to beat up one of the contentious reporters that succeeded in angering Niki by insulting his appearance. Expounding on the unconventional scenes of cloaked camaraderie is one that arrives late in the film where Niki admits to Hunt that the images that flickered from the television of his greatest foe winning championships were the single greatest force that propelled his will to continue with the strenuous surgeries (the scenes in which the fluid in his lungs is siphoned out are excruciating to watch). The film becomes a meditation on the more fruitful byproducts of competition—the possibility for self improvement and self fulfillment. All of this shouldn't come as a surprise after all. Ron Howard knows the complexities of male relationships and how to develop them in a dramatically satisfying way.
Frost/Nixon and
Cinderella Man are two recent films that similarly feature males relating across some form of political or social barrier.
Rush is only a continuation of the this side: the best of Ron Howard.
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