From a confused and shattered childhood, a delinquent rights himself and begins to move on with his life. He becomes a prizefighter, rises to the rank of number one contender, finds a wife and begins a family only to have his world come crashing down before him. Wrongfully convicted of a murder, he spends 19 years in prison, completes a book while in custody and becomes a centerpiece of social protest. Finally, after two failed appeals, a group of Canadian strangers, inspired by his writing, help bring him his freedom.
Pitch that to any studio, and you're golden. It's the screenwriter's Maltese Falcon. And, best of all, it's true.
No matter how doggedly one strives to create great narrative, innumerable real stories unfold everyday in the world around us that surpass the caliber of human invention. Truth is often stranger than fiction, and oftener more amazing.
In his newest film, Norman Jewison (most famous for 1967's "In the Heat of the Night") explores the pains of boxer Rubin "Hurricane" Carter (Denzel Washington) and his racially charged murder conviction. It is a didactic social commentary, a quest for justice and a celebration of the human soul. It contains one of the strongest individual performances of the decade and is a film that every American should see.
But, it should have been better.
Rubin Carter spent the greater part of his adult life locked in a cell for a crime he didn't commit. Can't that shocking reality be enough to move the viewer?
Why, despite the richness, abhorrent tragedy and overtly cinematic nature of the truth, do the filmmakers insist on adding circumstances that simply didn't occur?
For those who insist on comic book boundaries of good versus evil, the screenwriters invent Detective Vincent Della Pesca (Dan Hedeya), a racist officer who hounds Washington's character for the entirety of the boxer's life. The truth provides enough tension; this fabrication is unnecessary. Hitchcock said it best: In real-life conflict, "the villain doesn't kick the dog anymore."
If anything, this regression demeans the horror of Carter's experience. In truth, a cultural flaw, a shameful aspect of our country's history, mistreated him. By relegating the evil to one Disney-esque cop, white America escapes culpability. We can blame a man instead of The Man.
Minus the unmotivated and derivative use of black and white for the boxing sequences (a la "Raging Bull"), Jewison wisely and thankfully allows his actor to control the movie.
What little doubt may have remained about the talent of Denzel Washington is ancient history. Never afraid to tackle the anti-hero, he acts here with unbridled passion.
Many people, including the boxer himself, have referred to Carter as an angry man. In all likelihood, his reactionary nature probably led to suspicion of his guilt. Washington attacks Carter's complexity as the temperamental fighter transforms, discovering the power of enlightenment and sharing it with a young Brooklynite (Vicellous Reon Shannon).
The greatest reflection in the film is the exact price of freedom. Prison doesn't just take away one's ability to choose, but also their capacity to love. He may be behind bars, but he is no prisoner. Refusing to wear the standard uniform or turn in his watch, he maintains, "it's very important to transcend the places that hold us." Be it a screenplay or solitary confinement, Washington and Carter both transcend the forces that hold them.
With his final line, Washington, whose work already has brought home the Golden Globe, reflects, "I'll always be the Hurricane." With a performance like this, he certainly will.
Grade: B+
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