Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere

Director: Scott Cooper
Starring: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Stephen Graham, Odessa Young, Gaby Hoffman, Marc Maron, David Krumholtz, Harrison Gilbertson, Grace Gummer, Chris Jaymes, Johnny Cannizzaro, Brian Chase
Running Time: 119 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

In Scott Cooper's low-key, surprisingly contemplative Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, we get a portrait of an uncompromising artist attempting to escape his past, his childhood, his own father and the  fame that began to engulf him in the early 80's. Bruce Springsteen's journey is recognizable, but that's less a flaw with the film than confirmation of how often personal pain powers the work and ambition required to achieve greatness. For Bruce, it was always about the music first, even as his celebrity became an unintended consequence he'd rather ignore. 

Problems often arise when films of this genre employ a traditionally linear approach, cutting corners and running through tired clichés to reach the finish line. So it's to Cooper's credit that he doesn't attempt to cram the entire life and career of the Boss into a two-hour window, instead staying true to Warren Zanes' 2023 book covering the creation of his riskiest album. It's more a fading snapshot of a specific era, with Bruce arriving at a personal and creative crossroads, painfully looking back while trying to move forward.  

It's 1981 when ascending rock star Bruce Springsteen (White) finishes the final leg of his sold-out The River tour and manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) rents him a house in Colts Neck, New Jersey where he can quietly decompress. After stumbling upon the movie Badlands on TV, he starts researching notorious serial killer Charles Starkweather, using his story and the works of author Flannery O'Connor to craft new material. But the home's close proximity to the Freehold neighborhood where Bruce grew up brings back traumatic childhood memories of an alcoholic, mentally ill father Douglas (Stephen Graham), who physically and emotionally abused him and his mother Adele (Gaby Hoffman).  

Calling on his guitar tech Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) to bring in a four-track recorder, Bruce turns the bedroom into a makeshift studio where he begins writing a collection of somber songs influenced by his blue-collar upbringing. He also starts dating his old friend's sister Faye (Odessa Young), a single mom struggling to make ends meet. After hearing the somber tracks, Jon's perplexed by Bruce's refusal to alter or clean up the raw acoustic sound he perfected in that room. But as Jon faces the impossible task of convincing Columbia Records' exec Al Teller (David Krumholtz) to release the unmarketable Nebraska, Bruce is suffering from a bigger identity crisis than anyone realizes.

Watching this, you see how oddly fitting it is that Springsteen's most recognizable single came six years prior with "Born To Run," a title he appears to live by through much of the film. And though the pressure's on to top The River's enormous success, we're at least spared another rock star's descent into drug abuse and addiction, with the singer having already gotten a front row seat to those consequences as a child. Rather Bruce's demons come in the form of untreated depression, dimming the brightest moments and lessening what should be the highest of highs.  

Strange as it seems given Nebraska's esteemed standing in Bruce's catalogue, the album was actually a huge gamble that could have easily derailed his career. And a folk excursion coming off the heels of one of the artist's more commercially friendly periods only made it a tougher sell. But what's interesting about Cooper's script is how it doesn't necessarily present this undertaking as a choice so much as a flood of memories and influences converging at once, leaving him little option but to lower his guard and let them in. 

Absent among these demos is a radio ready hit like "Hungry Heart" or "Out in the Street," but that's inevitable given the stripped down circumstances under which they're produced. And Bruce won't budge on any of it, rejecting the idea of a tour, singles, promotion, or even his photo on the album's cover. But most importantly, the sound he created in that bedroom must be replicated as it was, minus the usual studio bells and whistles. Neither difficult or full of himself, he's just sure of his work in an era when even the most popular musicians were forced by suits to make crippling compromises. 

While now we know how far a record like this can go in enhancing an artist's discography, the notion of creative freedom or subverting expectations was foreign at the time, even if it bolsters their popularity once they eventually return to the sound with which fans are most familiar. So if it's painful for Jon and producer Chuck Plotkin (Marc Maron) to shelve future all-timers "Born in the U.S.A.," "Glory Days," "I'm Goin' Down" and "I'm on Fire," to accommodate Bruce's more muted vision, it all worked out in the end, with those abandoned tracks defining his legacy on the next album. 

Focusing on the concept album's construction makes this more palatable than it would otherwise be, even if 1950's black and white flashbacks to Bruce's abusive childhood might prompt complaints of Cooper following the genre's typical blueprint. In this case though, it's relevant to both the music's content and emotional scars that infiltrate every facet of the singer's life. This includes a meaningful relationship with Faye he can't help but sabotage, fearful of exposing a side of himself no one's permitted to see. 

Powered by Jeremy Allen White's transformative performance in the title role, we're reminded how singing is only half the battle, if that. Briefly convincing us he sounds good enough to pass muster in the concert scenes is one thing, but actually capturing the Boss's swagger and mannerisms is another challenge entirely, as the actor goes beyond imitation to dig deeper during his many quieter moments alone, haunted by the past. 

Strong leaves a lasting impression as Bruce's biggest advocate, shepherding the release of a possibly doomed album that only sees the light of day with his full support. Critical but realistic, he's a friend anyone would be lucky enough to also call their manager, as demonstrated by his receptive "wait and see" approach upon receiving the tape. His best scene comes opposite Krumholtz's exec, making it clear that his allegiance lies with Bruce, regardless of what the label wants. 

A biopic peppered by a series of depressing flashbacks is good cause for skepticism, but the tropes are mostly sidestepped by Graham's ice cold supporting turn and memories that pay off in Bruce's songwriting and eventual acceptance of where he came from. While the elder Springsteen may have done the best he could, his best happened to be terrible, which is something both need to work past. But in writing an album he didn't know needed to exist, Bruce lets it all pour out, intrinsically tying his music to the endeavor of creating it. Deliver Me From Nowhere is at its best when exploring that process, shedding light on how Nebraska eventually came to be.  

The Fantastic Four: First Steps

Director: Matt Shakman
Starring: Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Joseph Quinn, Julia Garner, Sarah Niles, Mark Gatiss, Natasha Lyonne, Paul Walter Hauser, Ralph Ineson, Matthew Wood
Running Time: 114 min.
Rating: PG-13 

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

After previous attempts failed at capturing the magic its characters brought to the page, delivering even just a decent cinematic interpretation of Marvel's Fantastic Four grew needlessly difficult. And between an unreleased 90's version, two lackluster installments in the 00's and that abysmal 2015 reboot, the idea of giving it another go has largely been frowned upon. That is until a desire to fill out out the MCU's next phase prompted Disney to take an entirely new approach to the material. 

The end result is director Matt Shakman's The Fantastic Four: First Steps, a thrilling sci-fi adventure that succeeds in erasing unpleasant memories of series past. Boosted by spectacular effects and jaw-dropping production design, world building becomes as much a priority as the actual plot, which is also surprisingly strong. After a somewhat methodical start, it gains traction from a formidable pair of villains and a retro-futuristic aesthetic more comparable to The Jetsons than a Marvel comic book movie. And yes, that's a compliment. 

It's 1964 on Earth-828 as everyone celebrates the fourth anniversary of astronauts Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby), Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) and Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn) gaining superhuman abilities after being exposed to cosmic rays during a space mission. Collectively known as the "Fantastic Four, they're worldwide celebrities, having vanquished various supervillains while inventor Reed's technological contributions and Sue's diplomatic work positively reverberate through society. 

With Reed and Sue now expecting a baby that may or may not also possess superpowers, the Silver Surfer (Julia Garner) arrives, declaring Earth marked for destruction by planet devouring cosmic giant Galactus (Ralph Ineson). The team travels to space to stop him, learning the couple's unborn child has the ability to relieve Galactus of his insatiable, life sustaining appetite for consuming planets. Sensing that power, he offers to spare Earth, but only if they hand over the baby. With the public angrily rebelling at the possibility they'd save one child over an entire population, the foursome devise a plan to defeat this gargantuan threat. 

A lot of effort is put into wiping the slate clean and establishing these characters through comedic interplay, family bonding and 60's inspired newsreel footage. While not exactly an origin story, it leaves no stone unturned in showing what the team's been up to for the past four years, nearly going overboard with their introductions. But there's a reason for that, and even when some of the humor falls flat, we're too mesmerized by Kasra Farahani's mid-century set design and Jess Hall's vibrant cinematography to notice. Between the lava lamps, curved architecture, bold colors, and sleek jumpsuits, it all invokes a visual feel no recent Marvel outing has come close to matching. 

At first, we get brief glimpses of the powers even viewers with only limited exposure to the films and comics will recognize. Reed's elasticity, Sue's invisibility, Johnny's ability to generate fire and Ben Grimm's superhuman strength as the giant, hulking The Thing will all come into play once Shalla-Bal's bursts onto the scene. And for all the complaints about a female Silver Silver, it's worth noting that Garner's mo-cap performance and appearance in the role might be the film's strongest aspect. 

Everything about the Surfer's presentation just hits, from her opening speech, to the connection she has with Johnny and even that brief flashback. So while it's easy to commiserate with fans demanding a male for consistency's sake, the blame can't be leveled at Garner, who overdelivers in a part only bolstered by the impressive effects. 

Kirby's Sue/Invisible Woman carries much of the film's physical and emotional heavy lifting when confronted with a dangerous proposition that puts her baby at risk. She not only benefits from an arc that really kicks into overdrive late in the game, but by encompassing how most envision Sue Storm to look and act based on the comics. With Pascal, its clear the producers went with the safest, most accessible choice for Reed. This combined with the actor's ubiquitous presence of late helped create the perception Marvel may phone this in. Only they don't, and Pascal's take on a genius who's smart enough to acknowledge he may not have all the answers ends up being better than its gotten credit for. 

Bachrach's self conscious but gentle giant Ben Grimm mostly tracks with prior incarnations, though he benefits from much improved VFX that emphasizes The Thing's monstrous appearance. A charismatic Quinn puts enough of his own spin on Johnny/Human Torch, giving the character a more likable, comedic slant without sacrificing the heroic aspects that define him. Unfortunately, despite ads implying the second coming of R2D2, robot assistant H.E.R.B.I.E. (voiced by Matthew Wood) is relegated to window dressing while Paul Walter Hauser's Mole Man merely serves as a comedic foil in the last act. 

The finale does work, as the team attempts to take out Galactus, who robotically marches through the streets with enormity and purpose that recalls a more sadistic Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Of course, there's mid-credits scene to dissect, but since we already know when the four are showing up again, the bigger questions surround how. But regardless of what follows, Shakman and company diligently stick to the task at hand, successfully re-establishing Marvel's "First Family" following a string of bad luck over the years.

Stylistically straying from other MCU entries, this functions well as a standalone, with no prior research or homework required to enjoy the ride. And tightly clocking in at under 120 minutes, this doesn't overstay its welcome, avoiding the burn out that's accompanied some of the studio's nearly three hour endurance tests. Effectively prioritizing story and spectacle, First Steps lifts the creative curse, doing justice to these characters and unlocking the potential we always suspected this series had.                              

Richard Jewell

Director: Clint Eastwood
Starring: Paul Walter Hauser, Sam Rockwell, Kathy Bates, Jon Hamm, Olivia Wilde
Running Time: 129 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

Early in Clint Eastwood's Richard Jewell, we're introduced to a man who behaves with absolute purpose and certainty. Someone so sure of what he's doing that nothing could possibly get in the way. Despite being mocked for his weight, called a "rent-a-cop," and generally laughed at and disrespected by everyone with whom he comes in contact, he just plows forward like it doesn't bother him at all. Of course, we later find out it very much hurts him, as it would anyone, but his loyalty to upholding the law takes precedence. In other words, Richard Jewell saved many lives in Atlanta's Centennial Park at the 1996 Olympics by doing what's he's always done: pay attention.

Despite the fact Jewell was railroaded and vilified by both law enforcement and the media to no end, there will be those accusing Eastwood of pedaling a right-wing agenda with his heroic depiction of this protagonist. And that's mainly because he fits the profile of an eccentric white male loner, as much now as even then. But if viewing the film through a political lens is eerily reminiscent of assumptions made about Jewell at the time, here's something scarier: Everyone still thinks he's the Olympic Park bomber. To this day. Well over a decade past his death. That fact alone should grant Eastwood as much creative freedom as he wishes.

Legally exonerated, but never acquitted in the public's eyes, Jewell's somehow taken this crime to his grave as its perceived perpetrator. There's a reason this movie isn't called Eric Rudolph. That eventually revealed bomber wasn't an exciting enough suspect for the media, nor was he an easy layup for the FBI. But disregarding the physical impossibility of Jewell having committed the crime and producing no forensic evidence linking him, they pushed forward anyway. So while the media and law enforcement get some rough treatment from Eastwood, it definitely isn't unwarranted. It's the director's best film in ages, but also a brilliantly told story made all the more remarkable for happening, its effects still rippling through our culture to this day.

It's summer 1996 when 33 year-old aspiring law enforcement officer, Richard Jewell (Hauser) moves in with his mother, Bobi (Kathy Bates) in Atlanta after a decade of bouncing around in various jobs such as a law office supply clerk and campus security guard. Given the chance to work security detail at Centennial Park on the eve of the Olympics, Jewell signs on, figuring that at least his mom will get a front-row seat to see her favorite singer, Kenny Rogers. Despite feeling ill the night of July 27th, Jewell reports for duty, and while chasing off some drunk teens, discovers a suspicious-looking backpack under a bench he suggests be investigated. After initially dismissing his serious concerns as nonsense, an explosives expert confirms the presence of a bomb before it detonates, injuring many and killing one.

By finding the device and helping to clear the area, Jewell is understandably celebrated by the media, his face plastered on every news program and a book deal being fast tracked. But when FBI agent Tom Shaw (Jon Hamm) suspects Jewell as the possible bomber with a "hero complex," his leaking of that info to fiesty Atlanta Journal Constitution reporter, Kathy Scruggs (Olivia Wilde) causes the security guard's life to unravel. With the FBI attempting to manipulate Jewell into confessing, he turns to an old friend to represent him, lawyer Watson Bryant (Sam Rockwell), the only person at his old supply clerk job who treated him, as Richard calls it, like a "human being". Both have their work cut out for them, as Jewell's name is dragged through the mud, devastating his mother, who still couldn't be prouder of her only son.

Adapted from Marie Brenner's 1997 Vanity Fair article,"American Nightmare: The Ballad of Richard Jewell," (a far better title by the way) Eastwood and screenwriter Billy Ray do a masterful job making a very clear distinction. This may be a simple man, but he's not simple-minded, as demonstrated in his ability to spot a threat that law enforcement officials with far more experience couldn't. And that might be the story of this guy's life, as he's constantly been overlooked and underestimated due to his appearance, weight, eccentric demeanor or the fact he lives with his mother. But for Hamm's rigid agent Shaw, those traits read as the criminal profile for a serial bomber.

Similar to the feeling of certainty Jewell exhibited in his investigation of the mysterious bag that night, Shaw's equally sure he found his man. But it's different, driven by a preconceived hypothesis about Richard that he's desperate to prove correct. It's a fascinating study in how people are falsely accused of crimes, with Shaw arranging and rearranging details in the investigation so it fits, as if he's trying to convince himself. While as confident he's doing the right thing as Jewell was, the key difference is that he's dead wrong.

Paul Walter Hauser was the ideal selection to play Richard Jewell and one of those rare, magical choices for a reality-based role that make the best case possible for why Oscars should be given out for casting as well as performances. Despite recent high-profile work as Harding bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt in I, Tonya and adult recruit "Stingray in YouTube's Cobra Kai, there's still an anonymity associated with him you just wouldn't get with any supposedly bigger name. And because Jewell's story revolves so much around us discovering this regular guy unwillingly shoved into the spotlight, anyone else would have seemed like a distraction. Aside from a considerable physical resemblance, Hauser completely disappears into Jewell as if the infamous security guard's been exhumed from a 1996 newscast. But the brilliance in his work comes when Richard calls upon the same strength he exhibited in the park scenes to hold himself (and his mom) together as public humiliation begins chipping away at his loyalty to the justice system.

Much of the action takes place in only two locations, with Eastwood first transporting us into the mileu of Centennial Park that night in July, with all the excitement and nervous energy surrounding the city on the cusp of the XXVI Olympic Games. We trail Jewell throughout, leading right up to and including the tragic event, witnessing his warnings of danger falling on deaf ears until action's eventually taken. And you could just as easily imagine brushing this guy off given that he's playing a hunch (albeit one based on knowledge and experience) that happens to end up being correct.

The rest of the action essentially takes place in his mom Bobi's apartment, which becomes Richard's own personal prison, as the pitchfork-wielding media descend upon their residence. As attorney Watson Bryant, Sam Rockwell reliably provides whatever comic relief exists in this re-telling, while also making you empathize with his blunt, straightforward character's exasperation with Jewell as a client. The honest, transparent qualities he admires in his friend are exactly what make him so difficult to represent, opening his mouth at the most incriminating times to state personal details better left unsaid. Soon, his job becomes to just simply shut Richard up before he serves himself up to the FBI on a platter.

For as much pain as Richard endures, it's his mother Bobi who seems to suffer most, earning her eventual designation by Watson as the 113th victim of the Olympic Park bombing. There are so many great, little details in Kathy Bates' performance as this proud mother whose entire reality is upended over two days. There was hardly enough time to process her son becoming a hero known around the world, fulfilling every dream she had for him in law enforcement, before he's scapegoated by the media and FBI as their lead suspect.

There's this indelible moment when Bobi's watching Tom Brokaw report on the story and asks why HE'S saying these terrible things about her son. And she means that literally, expressed with the utmost sincerity and confusion. It's as if Brokaw saying it has just made things more painfully real for her. And with just that short line, Bates conveys that Bobi is very much her son's mother, trusting and holding dear those who earn her respect and loyalty. Even if it's a TV personality. In many ways it represents the ultimate betrayal, as if this case has now officially infiltrated everything in their lives, including the trusted Tom Brokaw. If he's turning against Richard, the situation must truly be hopeless.

The Atlanta Journal Constitution's Kathy Scruggs was a real person and apparently well-respected journalist who's depicted here as sleeping with FBI agent Shaw in exchange for the info that Richard Jewell is their prime suspect. Hamm's Shaw is supposedly a composite of numerous federal agents working on the case so his character's let off the hook, while Scruggs, who passed away in 2001, is a little different in that she's an actual reporter referred to by name and shown having traded sex for tips on a story. Or did she? Whether this was some kind of exchange or they were in a relationship could have been easily distinguished by giving her more screen time that further fleshed out the character. Instead, we get a snapshot that doesn't provide a clear indication either way. And since she doesn't really warrant an expanded role in the context of the story Eastwood'strying to tell about the media, the better answer was probably just not using her name at all. It makes very little creative difference, but it sure did garner a great film the wrong kind of publicity, which is cruelly ironic in itself.

 Eastwood clearly cares very little about sugar-coating anything, and like Jewell himself, will forge ahead and do what he wants, regardless of whatever the current cultural climate dictates he should. It's hard not to respect that when the results are this good, while still recognizing why Scrugg's family would have a big problem with it. For what it's worth, Wilde plays Kathy well enough, which in this case means that she's a nasty, brash reporter who will do anything for a lead. And yet for all the controversy surrounding this real-life reporter's somewhat monstrous depiction, she went with a story from a valid source that she had every reason to believe was true, regardless of her methods in obtaining it. Eastwood never holds her to the same standard as an FBI agent who leaks classified information related to a bombing.

Jewell's only crime was misplaced faith, perhaps guilty of being too trusting, naive and compliant. In the film's most gut-wrenching scene, we find out that his biggest fear actually wasn't what would become of him, or even his mother, but those in law enforcement who could eventually find themselves in a position similar to his on that night. And because of this debacle, opt to say and do nothing. Then 9/11 happened. As it turns out, Richard Jewell may have been on the right side of history all along, patiently waiting for the rest of us to catch up with him.

I, Tonya

Director: Craig Gillespie
Starring: Margot Robbie, Sebastian Stan, Allison Janney, Julianne Nicholson, Bobby Cannavale, Paul Walter Houser, Caitlyn Carver, Ricky Russert, Mckenna Grace
Running Time: 119 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

There's this moment that comes in Craig Gillespie's biopic, I, Tonya, when disgraced figure skater Tonya Harding, years removed from the infamous event that would define her life and career, turns to the camera to tell us this is part of the story we've been waiting for. It's why we're here. Or the "incident," as it's referred to. More time is spent on it than you've been lead to believe, which includes everything from the planning to the botched execution and even more seriously botched cover-up. But I, Tonya isn't about any of this, while still also managing to be completely about it at the same time.

It becomes nearly impossible to separate the accompanying media narrative pushing Harding as this victimized anti-hero from the film itself. If the full extent of Harding's involvement in the 1994 attack on rival Olympic figure skater Nancy Kerrigan will always be subject for debate, what isn't is the fact that her actions and associations did lead directly to it. And with all that being true, it also needs to be acknowledged that she lead a mostly terrible life defined by physical and psychological abuse.

The toughest aspect of the movie is how it uncomfortably forces all those aforementioned elements to co-exist in a way they haven't before, perhaps in the end landing at the conclusion that Harding, no matter how you feel about her, never stood a chance. That any success she had was indirectly bred from misery and that feeling of never fitting in would persist, regardless of her talent or accomplishments. If you're Team Kerrigan, as I was at the time and still remain, there's relief in knowing that it's okay to empathize with the title character of this film, while not extending that same courtesy to the real person on whom it's based.

While filled to the brim with its fair share of detestable losers, it's also really cleverly conceived, told in a fourth wall-breaking, quasi-documentary style that suits the twisted subject, featuring flashbacks and interviews that carry a satirical tone, assuring the absurdity of the situation and its delusional characters is rarely lost. That combined with the two perfectly calibrated performances make for one of the more intriguing entries into the sports movie genre, as if there's even a correct way to categorize this. But whatever it is, it's definitely not what anyone expected.

It's the 1970's when three-year-old ice skating prodigy Tonya Harding is pushed by her abusive mother LaVona (Allison Janey) to train in her hometown of Portland, Oregon under the guidance of coach Diane Rawlinson (Julianne Nicholson). Seeing her daughter's astounding talent as merely a quick cash-in, Tonya (Margot Robbie) continues to rise up the ranks into her teen years, rapidly becoming one of the best figure skaters in the country. But even as she does this on pure skill alone, she faces resistance from those within the skating committee who take exception to her "poor white trash" reputation, which manifests itself on the ice with her costumes and rock music choices, not to mention the constant swearing at judges over scores.

Off the ice, Tonya does herself even fewer favors, associating with the likes of Jeff Gillooly (Sebastian Stan), whom she began dating at 15, and eventually marrying, much to LaVona's disapproval. It's a relationship that proves to be nearly as destructive and toxic as that with her mom, who continues to verbally cut her down as a failure well into young adulthood, while Gillooly's volcanic temper soon leads to violent beatings. The better Tonya's skating gets, the more hellish her personal life becomes, with all roads leading to the 1994 attack on Olympic rival and teammate Nancy Kerrigan (Caitlyn Carver) by Gillooly stooges Shawn Eckhardt (Paul Walter Hauser) and Shane Stant (Ricky Russert). Unfortunately, the rest is history.

While it's easy to accuse Gillespie and writer Steven Rogers' screenplay of piling on the trauma that followed Harding throughout her life, too much of it actually occurred to effectively hurl that criticism. And all of it came from her mother, who's played here by Janney in her Oscar-winning supporting turn as just about the most detestable parent and human being one could imagine existing, constantly lashing out at her daughter for no good reason other than to mitigate her own failures.

Making Tonya feel as worthless as possible isn't just an everyday occurrence with the vulgar, chain-smoking LaVona, but her life's mission, poorly disguising it under the mask of "tough love" as she brags about the sacrifices she's made for her disappointment of a daughter. As driving force and chief antagonist of this entire story, I'd love to report she's a deeply complex, nuanced character, but the fact is she's just plain awful. This comes as a relief in some ways, completely in line with the film's darkly comic viciousness, as the script makes no apologies or excuses for her monstrous behavior.

Many detractors are right in assessing that Janney is hitting one note and LaVona is a caricature, but anyone who's seen footage of the real woman (who actually does have a pet parakeet on her shoulder) would tell you that's exactly what she is. And given the semi-ironic tone the picture's going for, any attempt to humanize her would probably be a major mistake. It's a telling moment when during one of the many videotaped confessional moments, Harding expresses confusion as to why so many people would care about Nancy Kerrigan getting hit once when she was beaten her entire life. It takes a second to realize the statement is true, before realizing what that says about Tonya for making it. And none of it's flattering.

In addition to completely transforming her physical appearance, effectively adapting her mannerisms and style of speech and believably inhabiting the figure skater from her early teen years into nearly middle age, the biggest accomplishment of Margot Robbie's outlandishly great lead performance is how it gives you peeks into this tragically troubled athlete's psyche. If her mother has no hint of humanity, Tonya does, putting the work in to reach the top only to have her demons destroy the only thing she ever loved and excelled at: skating.

Despite possessing considerably more raw talent than her rivals and becoming the first woman to nail the triple axel (in one of many believable, masterfully edited competition scenes) it still wasn't good enough because she couldn't "play the game." And that's important in a sport that revolves around class and elegance, something ice princess Kerrigan had in spades but Tonya's upbringing made it impossible for her to fake, even if she was willing to. And she was never willing to, in so many ways setting up this dichotomy that existed between Harding and Kerrigan that went beyond sport and competition, serving instead as media catnip.

The genius of the screenplay is how their feud isn't explicitly explored (Kerrigan hardly appears), but its cultural implications nonetheless permeate through every frame of the film, even reaching back to when Tonya's a little girl. It's crass vs. class. The smoking, swearing rebel vs. the sweet girl next door. And as skilled as Hollywood writers are, none of them could have crafted a better story than the real one that took viewers into Lillehammer in 1994 when for a few short months figure skating became bigger than the Super Bowl. Wisely, Gillespie doesn't attempt to replicate that, instead focusing on its most controversial participant, with even the classic rock soundtrack selections inseparable from Tonya's head space, as well as the lowlifes she surrounded herself with.

Most of the picture's second half revolves around her relationship with Gillooly, played by Sebastian Stan in an underappreciated performance. Initially presenting himself as meek and quiet, he eventually assumes the mantle of the new chronic abuser in Harding's life, as their toxic on-again, off-again relationship is filled with nonstop verbal and physical altercations, including a particularly memorable one involving a firearm. And it's in a pathetically desperate last ditch attempt to prove he "loves" her that Gillooly calls in a favor from his buddy Shawn Eckhardt, perhaps the most pitiable and inept character in this entire saga, with actual assailant Shane Stant running a close second.

What begins as an anonymous threat against Kerrigan careens wildly out of control, and what's most surprising about how Gillespie depicts the infamous incident is how it's hilariously played as total farce. And that's exactly what it was. An episode of "World's Dumbest Criminals" that happened to have very real, deadly serious consequences. Did Tonya know?  Does it even matter? While the script doesn't present any additional information to come to a concrete conclusion one way or another, Tonya Harding is responsible. Or rather irresponsible, just by her association with Gillooly. In other words, by the time the knee clubbing occurred, the crazy train already left the station for Tonya, and the screenplay does an excellent job detailing how her life would inevitably lead to disaster. If it wasn't this, then there's a good chance it just would have been something else.

While it's clearly irrefutable that justice was served in the ruling to ban Harding for life from figure skating and TV ratings can be cited as the only reason she was at the Olympics instead of in jail, there's another defining event in the film that lingers longer in the mind. It comes in the only moment LaVona seems to display something resembling an actual soul, before the curtain is pulled back to reveal more heinous motivations. It's may be easy to argue whether Harding did or didn't deserve her lot in life, but few would claim she had that betrayal coming, especially at the hands of her own mother.

While criticisms will continue to persist that Gillespie is really making fun of these people with the mockumentary approach he takes, it's a story that's probably impossible with a straight face anyway, or at least without occasionally winking at the audience. It's the perfect approach because the situation is just too absurd to do otherwise, especially when the harshest skewering is reserved for the media in the form of Bobby Cannavale's Hard Copy tabloid TV producer. At one point, Harding's contemplative and brutally honest, if not particularly self-reflective, narration acknowledges how shows like that are now the news thanks this event and the O.J. case. But I,Tonya delves even deeper by attempting to explore how much a person's actions are guided and shaped by socio-economic circumstances extending beyond their control, and whether or not that  should matter when life's final score is eventually tallied.