Most of this crowd has heard by now about "Murderball," the Audience winner at this year's Sundance and the front runner for the documentary Academy Award.
You all know that brilliant and gorgeous co-directors Dana Adam Shapiro and Henry Alex Rubin used Ministry and Ween music to accent their fierce story of betrayal, rivalry, nationalism, and above all, sports.
You probably get that this is an amazingly funny and riveting movie about all the things you never had the balls to ask a handicapped person such as "how's the sex life?" and "do you wish you'd died instead?" What you don't know is that when you walk out of the theater, you're going to want your own tricked out Mad Max quad rugby wheelchair for a mere $3,000. And that if you had one, even you my friend could get laid.
That's right. Instead of making you feel like crappy about your fully capable body, you're going to want to be hanging out with these cool tough guys, cheering them on at their next extreme game (http://www.quadrugby.com), and scoring their women. You might even wish you could play quadriplegic rugby, though I'm not personally that brave.
This film is so tricky that it makes you wish you were the Other. Those people whose eyes you never meet on the street, as if bad luck were viral.
Human beings are a superstitious lot, even the atheists. One trait we've all held in common is the desire to look away from other's misfortune: There but by the grace of God go I.
The habit is so ingrained that even those of us who know better fall prey to it. Case in point: My mother is currently in a wheelchair. We say currently, because she is still actively seeking treatment to walk again, and we have high hopes. The wheelchair has become second nature to me. I even sit in it when there is no room by her hospital bed. But one of the main reasons I am comfortable with it is because I know she doesn't believe she's in it permanently.
I left my mother's hospital room to go down the block to the LA premier of "Murderball." I walked past the red-carpet photographers into the lobby and was confronted by the sight of four cute guys in wheelchairs with gussied up models sitting on their laps posing for "Variety." What did I do? I LOOKED AWAY.
"Murderball" at its most subversive core is about the amazing ability we have to dehumanize those whose only real difference from us is a permanent chair makes them shorter. Not everyone in chairs is retarded, and most weren't born needing one. They hit a spell of bad luck, just like any of us could
just like most of us will love someone who does
and that thought terrifies us into stupidity.
As the movie hilariously documents, the only ones in a room with a wheelchair present acting retarded are the supposedly "normal" people. But that's not the focus of the film
it's just the aftermath. You may not even notice that the candy is nutritional.
"Murderball" is co-sponsored by MTV Films, and they have high hopes that their target audience will want to see these tough athletes fight. And hey, if you're not interested in the sport quad rugby, you're probably going to be pretty interested in the explicit sex training video and the swearing and sh*t-talking.
For those who doubted Team USA is swarmed by women, let me tell you: I personally witnessed a single one score a dozen digits at the LA premier after party at the swanky W in Westwood. These blokes can really pound back the free booze...these are the type of bad asses you want to hang out and drink with if you're a guy, and date if you're a girl. If you're gay, I think you're just out of luck.
Remember, all of the stars were jocks before their accidents, and afterward they were more focused on physical rehab so they could grab their meat instead of their toothbrush. I talked to some of these infatuated women, and they weren't stupid
and they weren't feeling sorry for these studs. If you want to understand more, go see the film.
I could give away the plot, but suffice it to say it's "Friday Night Lights" meets "Word Wars" (which I thought even before realizing it is the actual editor from "Word Wars" and another Think Film).
Expect big things to be coming from these hot-in-every-way co-directors. Henry was the one behind the 1997 doc "Who is Henry Jaglom?" I had the opportunity to speak to first-time director Dana Adam Shapiro at the after-party, and he is down to earth and full of heart. Next up for him is directing his own "The Every Boy," a stunning debut novel that I highly recommend.
I'm going to close with the result of the film: a standing O. And when I walked out into the lobby, this time I had no problem seeing the shorter human beings and grinning broadly into their beautiful eyes. I'm not saying pin a medal on me; obviously I'm messed up. And these guys could give a crap if I smile at them. But this miraculous, intimate and rocking documentary helped to change MY world.
Even better, when I crawled into Mom's hospital bed the next day to snuggle and tell her about the night before, she informed me she was going to get out of her wheelchair soon. I told her it was okay if she didn't, and that if that happened, we'd get her a cool roller-derby chair so she could hit crap. For the first time in a long time, I saw that evil glint in her eyes of naughty, childish joy.
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