Directed by Henry Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro
"What movie did you rent?"
"Murderball. It's a documentary about quadriplegic rugby players."
...And watch all the interest drain from the other person's face.
Seriously, think over the answer. The first warning signal is the word "documentary": While I love them, the term "documentary" immediately calls to mind the Discovery Channel...and, as this year's dreadfully dull March of the Penguins proved, sometimes they are little more than TV specials blown up to fit the big screen. The second warning signal is the term "quadriplegic": People think "quadriplegic," they think "people in wheelchairs with really depressing lives." And, finally, there's a third warning signal: The word "rugby." You ask someone here in the States what rugby is, you'll more than likely get some muttering and mumbling, followed by an admittance that they're not really certain. This is the answer I got:
"I don't really know...football, basketball, and soccer together?"
"A game played by two teams of 15 players each on a rectangular field 110 yards long with goal lines and goal posts at either end, the object being to run with an oval ball across the opponent's goal line or kick it through the upper portion of the goal posts, with forward passing and time-outs not permitted."
After having seen the film, I'm still not exactly sure of all the rules and regulations. But it doesn't matter; Murderball is not a movie about rugby, it's a movie about the bloodthirsty court sport of murderball, and it's not about how the players manage to give it their all in spite of their handicaps, it's about how they manage to annihilate the opposition because of their handicaps. Plus, for a documentary, it's fresh, fast, funny, and charged with a kind of irresistible energy that accomplishes the daunting task of mixing the kill-'em-all MTV side of the film with the inspirational sentiment in a near-perfect blend.
Murderball follows the official wheelchair rugby Team U.S.A., which has won the past eleven international tournaments, on their road to the 2004 Paralympics in Athens, Greece (not to be confused with the Special Olympics, as one of the players makes abundantly clear). It also documents one of the team's former players, Joe Soares, who now coaches Team Canada after being cut from the U.S. team because they deemed him too unfit due to his age. The rivalry between the American and Canadian teams is fierce, vicious, and one of the most bitter and potent sports rivalries I can think of ever witnessing. And coming from someone who lives in an area where people wearing Steelers gear get routinely mugged and jumped, that's saying something. The rivalry may run deep, but the movie never becomes about team politics or shouting matches (though some are featured); it always manages to keep a human focus on the competition.
And that human focus is often poignant and heart-wrenching. The stories behind the players' disabilities, especially that of Mark Zupan--the goateed player featured on the poster and most publicity materials--are emotional and affecting tales of horror, and of the queasy disconnection with the way they used to live their lives and those they lived them with. The filmmakers, Henry Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro, also have the brilliant idea of following the life of someone who has suddenly found themselves quadriplegic, Keith Cavill, to provide a contrast with the well-adjusted lives of the rugby players. There is a particularly haunting shot of Keith in his wheelchair staring up at the big motorcycle he loved so much that was the cause of his accident...and which he will never be able to ride again.
But it's not all about what they can't do; as one of the most amusing sections of the film proves, they can definitely have sex. It's a fresh reminder that the people we often look down upon as pitiful and helpless are living lives just as fulfilling as ours, if not more so. I actually felt kind of guilty as the team recounted stories of obnoxious, condescending people who assumed they needed help in everything that they did. I know that I've certainly thought of disabled people like that on several occasions in the past, and I just hope I wasn't as condescending as the people in their stories were. I probably was, though; that's the way in which our simple-minded society operates.
Murderball is the kind of movie that needs to be put out with much greater regularity; we need to see this, and know that the handicapped aren't neccessarily any less fortunate than those of us that are able-bodied. At a quick 88 minutes, Murderball is easily digestable yet permanently unforgettable. It's a fast, furious, stirring, and moving chronicle of the lives of some damn fine athletes who just so happen to live life sitting down.
