Invictus

Peter (husband) Lucy (daughter) and me (me) went to see Invictus last week in which South Africa win the Rugby World Cup.  Wow. Now  Peter and Lu are complete rugby fans.  Lucy was all for going but Peter demurred.  “Why should I,” he demanded, “want to see a film about South Africa winning? England winning the world cup now, that’s different.” And I could certainly see his point of view.  No one (no English no one, anyway!)  who saw it will forget that breath-taking moment in 2003 at the end of the game when, with the scores at 17-17, Jonny Wilkinson kicked the dream of a drop goal and won the game.  (“Wilkinson!  Kicks it high, kicks it straight, kicks it over!” yelled the bloke on Radio Five Live.)

But, urged by his daughter and wife, Peter came along.  And he was glad he did.  Sport, as a subject for drama can be a bit of a curate’s egg.  Whereas it’s gripping to watch a game unfold (i.e, England’s world cup victory above) sport has to be tweaked to make it a good story.  Anyone who’s ever read any horse or motor racing fiction, for instance, will know that the favourite nag will never get to the starting line without seeing off a couple of kidnappings and a doping attempt and the chances are there’s more assorted murder and mayhem on the way.  If it’s by Dick Francis, the hero’s lucky to escape with all his limbs intact.  No car ever gets to the track without International Crooks (a useful bunch) stealing the new formula, sawing through the clutch cables or drugging the pit crew.  Sugaring the petrol is almost de rigueur.  If crime is eschewed, then the really good sports films tend to be about how sport changes, strengthens and moulds a character, such as the Rocky films.  If you don’t feel good by the end of it, you’ve got a heart of stone or were having forty winks.

Invictus shows how not one man, but a whole nation was transformed by rugby.  It’s about far more than sport, of course.  I remember that nervous time when Nelson Mandela was released and the world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable blood-bath in South Africa. And it didn’t happen. Yes, OK, Invictus simplifies things, but such a huge story has to be simplified to make it watchable.  The essence of the truth is there, though.  The black South Africans loathed the Springboks, seeing the green-and-gold of the national side as a symbol of oppression.  Mandela, who’s brilliantly played by Morgan Freeman, argues against changing the name and the colours.  He wants to give the Afrikaners the reassurance that their treasured Boks are still theirs – the difference being that now the Boks represent the whole country and not just one race.

One of the best parts of the film is when an understandably nervous Francois Pienaar, (and he’s brilliantly played too, by Matt Damon) the Boks captain, is asked to afternoon tea with Mandela.  They talk about inspiration, which is where Invictus comes in.  Nelson Mandela was inspired by the poem, Invictus, in prison and Pienaar takes it to heart.  Honest to God, if you didn’t know this was a true story, you wouldn’t believe there could be that much restraint, that much magnificent forgiveness (from Mandela) that much willingness to embrace new ways (from Pienaar) in the world.  The last quarter of an hour or so, where the Boks are up against the hitherto invincible New Zealand All Blacks are electric.  Cape Town is stilled, and in a wonderful thumbnail of the nations coming together, a little black boy comes closer and closer to where two white policemen are listening to the game on their car radio.  It ends with the little boy being lifted on their shoulders as the Boks follow Pienaar’s command to “Believe!”

I went for the tissues.  The script, by Anthony Peckham from the book by John Corlin is fantastic – not a wasted word - and the direction, by Clint Eastwood, is razor-sharp.  Quite simply, it’s one of the best films I’ve ever seen.  Invictus, by the way, is Latin for unconquered.  It’s an image of battle and Invictus is about the best battle ever – South Africa’s war that never was.