Tyson
Directed by James Toback
B+
Like a Spalding Gray monologue performed by a maniac, James Toback’s riveting Tyson allows the disgraced former heavyweight champ to sit down in front of a camera and tell his own story in his own words. The documentary integrity police have predictably already jumped all over the project, which for all its candor is perhaps inescapably blinkered and self-serving.
But sometimes objectivity is overrated. When you’re dealing with a subject as widely loathed and endlessly controversial as Mike Tyson, there’s no shortage of dissenting opinions floating around in the ether, so perhaps it’s best to stick with the first-person and try to see the world through Iron Mike’s damaged, paranoid point of view.
In one of the most harrowing sagas in all of professional sports, Tyson started out ripping off Brooklyn dope dealers before the age of 11. Well on his way to being just another statistic, the young thug was rescued and trained by the legendary Cus D’Amato, a father figure who was able to focus Tyson’s animal rage into a breathtaking career characterized by lightening-quick knockouts, with most bouts lasting less than a minute. Seeing the footage again after all these years is to be reminded of the terror and fury of Tyson in the ring: the locomotive-strength punches and almost ungodly speed.
D’Amato’s death looms large over Tyson, as without his trainer’s grounding influence we hear the champ describe firsthand a death-spiral of paranoia, betrayal and obvious mental illness. One minute he’s on top of the world; the next he’s squandered millions and sits before us a broke, convicted rapist with crazy facial tattoos.
As Tyson falls apart, Toback fragments the frame and loops the narration track into overlapping incantations, cinematically matching the disassembled mental state of his subject. Tyson’s syntax is fascinating, a grab-bag of street slang and 50 cent words.
With nothing left to hide anymore, Tyson freely admits to winning the title while suffering an excruciating case of gonorrhea he picked up from a prostitute. He confesses lewd sexual fantasies, spits bile at his detractors and compulsively overshares and analyzes every morsel of information as though it might contain some sort of answer—the key to an inner peace he’ll probably never find.
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