***1/2 (out of ****)
Starring Tobey Maguire, Jeff Bridges, Chris Cooper, Elizabeth Banks, Gary Stevens, and William H. Macy, with narration by David McCullough
Directed & written for the screen by Gary Ross, from the book by Laura Hillenbrand
2003
141 min PG13
“Seabiscuit” is a pleasant, accessible parable about the Great Depression from four viewpoints, three human and one equine. Anyone who has been introduced to the concept of symbolism will have little trouble translating it. The racehorse of the title is beaten down, despondent, washed up, yet he refuses to give in. He fights, and a populace in despair sees him and thinks, if this damaged, skid row beast can succeed with a second chance, then so can all of us. “You lose a couple,” the horse’s owner tells a cheering crowd. “But you keep fighting.”
The myth of the horse is also the story of four American icons, not individuals, but archetypes: the self-made millionaire, the straight-shooting loner of the Old West, and the common man, who keeps getting up no matter how many times he gets knocked down. And, of course, they’re all underdogs, just like the horse.
The movie begins in 1910 with Charles Howard (the effortlessly great Jeff Bridges), a quintessential self-made American millionaire who amasses a fortune in the automobile industry. Great wealth is an afterthought compared to his wide-eyed admiration for the future, for mankind’s ability to invent its own destiny. His own rise to power brings down Tom Smith (Chris Cooper), an old-fashioned cowboy and horse trainer, for whom pavement means the end of an era. But technology and capitalism turn their backs on the millionaire, when the Crash of 1929 and a personal tragedy deliver him a one-two punch.
If the millionaire is American ambition and salesmanship—it’s no surprise he’s from California, the land of the future—and the horse trainer is tradition and individuality, then the common man is embodied by Red Pollard (Tobey Maguire). A downtrodden young man, perpetually teetering on the edge of despair, Pollard finds himself taking any job he can find, in a time when jobs were hard to find. He boxes, rides horses, clean stables. He vomits regularly to stay light enough to ride, but we get the feeling that he can’t afford to be other than pale and decimated.
These three men are brought together by the beat-up but unsinkable beast, and it is not always a smoothly-running union. In the DVD commentary, director/screenwriter Gary Ross makes it a point to mention that the story is about all these viewpoints suffering on their own but surviving when united. Seabiscuit’s pride is nursed through the company of another down-and-out horse who travels with him wherever he goes. As the millionaire takes in Pollard, we see the New Deal lending dignity and a caring hand to the destitute. As Seabiscuit gains popularity, his team sets its sites on War Admiral, a Triple-Crown winner built like a rhinoceros. He is owned by New York old money that condescends to the Californians, and who Seabiscuit’s infield fans feel led the country down the garden path in 1929.
“Seabiscuit” is made with better production values than strictly necessary, considering that nothing blows up and no one goes to war, and is up for Oscars in art direction, cinematography, and costumes. The movie’s sets are big, the crowds are almost all real, the autumnal forests look fantastic, shadowy mountains loom over California, and light comes through windows and between tree branches in shafts you can almost grab onto. Cinematographer John Schwartzman redeems himself for so much Bruckheimer crap. But Ross is not overpowered by the size of his production and keeps his story intimate; he gives the movie a clean look and the cast gives clean, restrained performances. Yes, it is a conventional movie, but that’s not a bad thing; Ross never draws attention to himself and achieves a kind of Michael Curtiz, Howard Hawks sturdiness. The big three are joined by real-life jockey Gary Stevens as Pollard’s friendliest competitor, Elizabeth Banks as the millionaire’s wife, and William H. Macy as the kind of radio announcer that you won’t hear outside of “A Prairie Home Companion” anymore.
Ross’ chief action sequences are races, which are thrilling, in as close as a jockey and out as far as the crowds. But perhaps Ross’ greatest achievement is to reign them in, to not overdo them. We are only given those races that are necessary and nothing more. Like the boxing matches in “Raging Bull,” as mechanically brilliant as they are, the races always advance story, never technique. The horse itself is, in fact, not even introduced until forty-five minutes in. That’s just how leisurely Ross has decided to tell his story, how much he lets it breathe. “Seabiscuit” is narrated throughout by David McCullough of PBS’s “The American Experience,” and the use of black-and-white still images gives the movie a similar feel.
When the stock market crashed, my grandmother was young enough to collect rags and tin cans with a Radio Flyer wagon. By Pearl Harbor, she was a mother of two. Stories about that era feel like myth, and so does “Seabiscuit,” with its lump-in-throat themes of resilience and loyalty. Pollard and Seabiscuit learn, and so does the country, that defeat and comeback are not just part of life, but the biggest part.
Finished January 30, 2004
Copyright © 2004 Friday & Saturday Night
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