Here in my heart, I'm alone and so lonely.Just as is the case with the violent, moody, socially awkward lug of a man at its center, This Sporting Life isn't necessarily all that friendly or pleasant to get to know. Both Frank Machin and the film about him, Lindsay Anderson's debut feature and a high point of the early 60s British New Wave, prove to be rough, rude, confrontational and complicated, and they each run the risk of wearing out their welcome. But just exercising a bit of patience, withholding judgment and spending time in their company will reveal enough painfully poignant truth to reap sufficient rewards for the effort.
The movie itself is basically a character study of a dysfunctional couple. Frank Machin is a coal miner seeking to improve his lot in life by exploiting his physical attributes for the sake of professional city league rugby. Mrs. Hammond, the widow who's taken Frank in as a boarder, is a mother of two young children still reeling from the suicide of her husband and the impossibility of the task that sits before her, fending for herself in a world utterly indifferent to her family's survival. Each of them have arrived in adulthood emotionally unequipped to deal with the surges of desire and guilt that well up within them, and we the spectators are afforded the painful privilege of watching them grapple with the anguished conflicts that result as they get to know each other and find themselves unprepared to resolve the dilemmas that their mutual attraction creates.
The genesis of This Sporting Life is the life experience of its screenwriter, David Storey, who also wrote the successful novel upon which the film is based. Storey's background mirrors that of his protagonist, arising from working class roots in the north of England, where he somehow found a way to merge the seemingly incompatible skills of being a highly skilled athlete and an artistically sensitive writer. Storey's book became a highly-sought film property, and an unusual chain of events led the provocative film critic and documentarian Lindsay Anderson into the director's chair to shoot his first narrative drama. With novice producers and a young, talented but still unproven lead actor in Richard Harris holding center stage throughout, This Sporting Life was indeed a high stakes gamble on the part of many who were putting up instead of shutting up at a crucial moment in the evolution of British cinema.
Arriving at the tail end of the UK's "angry young man" era, in which an unvarnished degree of socially realist candor was cut loose to express itself, and just on the verge of a new era ushered in by the Beatles, James Bond and the phenomenon of Swinging London, This Sporting Life wasn't a commercial success by most measures, but it did have a galvanizing effect on those who were paying attention. The headline performance of Richard Harris launched him into mainstream stardom, landing him the Best Actor award at the 1963 Cannes Film Festival. Harris' aquiline profile, conspicuous eye make-up, self-conscious brooding and fearsome body language draw natural comparisons to the young Marlon Brando, making the recent Criterion release of On The Waterfront an interesting study of master and disciple at work. His female counterpart, Rachel Roberts, also won awards and acclaim for her portrayal of a woman heavily weighed down by concerns of what others might think and her deeply internalized guilt for the burdens that drove her husband to take his own life. Simply for viewing the power of their fully realized method acting, This Sporting Life is a must-see.
But deeper than the surface attractions noted above, I find this film quite affecting and lastingly memorable for the risks it takes in breaking away from the usual formula that has afflicted "sports movies" for quite a few decades now. Much of the plot of This Sporting Life revolves around Frank Machin's experiences of becoming somewhat of a celebrity in the local rugby scene - his first flush of fame, of money, of notoriety; his encounters with women as eager to throw themselves at him for the sake of experiencing his raw physical/sexual power as for the erotic validation that his attention to them delivers; his realization that, whatever pleasures his athletic success may open up to him, he remains a handsomely-compensated "great ape" on the string of his owners. And there's certainly enough substance in all that to hold the attention to Anglophiles of all ages who just can't get enough of watching British culture in all of its fascinating variations. (Count me gladly among that company.) Still, the lasting impact of the film, aside from the curiosity it arouses in me to gain a better understanding of who Lindsay Anderson was and what he was up to in his too-brief career as a film director, is to impress upon me the heartfelt pain that an ill-placed love and affection can create in a person's life. Machin, who like the machine his name resembles, produced profits that others enjoyed more than he did, and Mrs. Hammond, the hapless widow whose refusal to yield to the mutual attraction that she and Frank felt for each other, and suffered terribly and even fatally because of that refusal, are powerfully emblematic of the reckless nature of our hearts. From one angle, each of them had much better, easier prospects for happiness and fulfillment that they both declined for the sake of each other. From another, getting together in the first place was a huge mistake that should have been avoided entirely if at all possible. Between those poles of lust and repulsion, Machin and Hammond found themselves locked into a connection that defied all logic and rationality. Yet the impulse was strong, despite the unbearable pain it inflicted on each of them. Not all that sporting of the fates to torment them so, as it turned out, but that's too often how it goes, innit?
Next: 8 1/2