It was an end of a night out conversation, just before the last train home. I was sitting with Ted Wilkes: academic, filmmaker and former sportsman. I asked him what first drew him to sport. His response was, ‘the violence’.
Not the answer I anticipated but thinking about it, there is plenty there if you want it (even unintentionally, as I look at the pictures of a smashed Tadej Pogačar’s limping into an ambulance and out of La Vuelta).
For me though it was the ‘story’ and I recalled a photograph that captivated me as a child of the 1978 World Cup final. In the foreground, Mario Kempes, thick long curls, eyes and arms wide, mouth open in joy, he has just scored a goal that would help secure Argentina the World Cup. He is framed by a crowd wrapped in light blue and white, the whole scene looks like it is taking place inside a snow globe thanks to a blizzard of tickertape. It is an instant of drama, release and delight. For the winners at least.
Whilst it would be natural to be drawn to Kempes, I realised that I resented him and being nine I didn’t really know why. There were, however, some other men in the picture that I was drawn to, the Dutch, dressed in orange, shoulders slumped and frozen forever in positions of utter disappointment.
These were my people, the losers.
In this single frame we see Argentine glory and the closing of a Dutch story, a story that had already wound up this way four years before and was, all over again, ending in failure. The hero’s journey thwarted; the dark night of the soul reprised.
If one frame can reveal so much then imagine where a documentary of 25 frames a second can take us?
For sports documentaries, the story can often be simple, especially if archive footage is used to build the story after the event. Archive, previously shot footage, plays an important role here, as it brings with it another quality, nostalgia.
Take Johnny Owen’s I Believe in Miracles, for example, with its images of the Garibaldi red of Nottingham Forest’s 1979 European cup -winning team in that streaky glow of 1970s live TV. The power of archive is that it takes the viewer right to that moment (which is probably why it is so expensive; up to £140 per second). A film like this succeeds because it is not just about the games or the titles. It is about people pursuing extraordinary dreams under immense pressure. The same is true of most great sports documentaries. Their subject is rarely sport itself but the people who make it.
Whilst documentaries are about real life, they are still stories and therefore rely on ‘narrative’ and the necessity of a beginning, a middle and an end.
A happy ending can be tricky to engineer if the coach is fired or the trophy cabinet remains empty. In these circumstances the filmmaker will need then to employ the victory of the redemptive arc; the team finding meaning in collective endeavour or the spiritual satisfaction of reaching a journey’s end.
Ted, who with Phil Hughes, has co-written two books about screenwriting, outline a series of archetypes that guide audiences through a story, their book Character is Structure explains how the narrative is much more the result of the choices protagonists make rather than a plot they simply inhabit. Documentary filmmaking is no different.
Take Amazon’s The Test. The series begins after Australian cricket’s ball-tampering scandal has left the national team humiliated and discredited.
Episode one introduces a new manager, a man who did not have any expectation that he would be in the role but is determined to succeed nonetheless, fitting the archetype that Hughes and Wilkes call the Willing Chosen One.
The core of this ‘New Beginning’ is not winning matches (which is lucky really as they don’t) but finding dignity, strength and comradeship under a new leader. Here we become invested not in scores but people. Before these men rediscover winning, and they do, they must earn trust and build self-respect. Soon enough the audience is on side, we have seen them in training sessions and passionate dressing-room meetings, and have become committed to their journey.
The strength of this approach lies in its acknowledgement that human beings are fallible and contradictory. If we believe in them, we can root for them.
Consider Asif Kapadia’s magnificent Diego Maradona documentary of 2019, which surveys the legendary footballer at the height of his powers. If you know the story then you know that a downfall is coming eventually but for 90 minutes we are captivated by what made him simultaneously both folk hero and devil.
The killer line comes from his former trainer, ‘I loved Diego but I hated Maradona’, which could almost serve as the film’s tagline (the wording on the poster designed to grab your attention). Maradona’s personal contradictions, combined with his athletic genius, are what draw us in.
In this film we understand what mattered within the seemingly perfect union of Maradona and both the team and the city of Napoli. Both were outsiders, both understood poverty, and both embraced a rebellious identity. Add cocaine, money, the Camorra and an improbable yet inevitable World Cup fixture, and you have an imperfect character at the centre of a compelling narrative.
I was excited this summer to see the release of two recent documentaries, Mourinho and A Beautiful Obsession and both are masterclasses in character-driven storytelling.
Two iconic managers of the post-Maradona age, José Mourinho and Pep Guardiola. Each of these films, Mourinho and A Beautiful Obsession relies on the protagonists to lead the stories. There are of course other factors that disrupt the journey; how well the teams play or the patience of chairmen, yet all of these elements are ultimately reactions to the decisions our protagonists make.
Mourinho arrives on screen as a captivating blend of charisma and confrontation. His combination of charismatic hero and pantomime villain initially fascinates, but director Joe Pearlman chooses to dig deeper, uncovering the roots of José’s relentless ambition.
He finds the gold when Mourinho talks about the father he idolised. We also begin to see the insecurities that fuel his relentless drive; his (comparatively) modest playing career and the lingering ‘translator’ jibes from his Barcelona days. These competing sides of his personality unfold throughout the documentary. Like Maradona, we are first dazzled by the public figure before becoming invested in the human being beneath.
If Mourinho is one of those tricky 2000-piece jigsaw puzzles then Pep is Buckaroo, all limbs and explosive excitement. He comes across as more loveable, histrionically demanding/pleading his players (Guys!) to share his own demands for success. Sometimes exuding disappointment but always ready to give affection. If you are scared that José might blank you then you are anxious not to let Pep down because you’ll break his heart.
Director Kevin Macdonald brilliantly captures Guardiola’s neurosis through his obsession with the white board. It becomes his security blanket, his instinctive go-to. We watch him frantically rearranging counters, wrapped in his own world, one that moves at twice the speed of everyone else’s.
His passion seems to be pushing those closest to him further away; his wife, his captain, his star striker. Here we see the many layers of responsibility resting on his shoulders, Players, family, owners and supporters all depend on him to win at everything.
I hope that even if sport does not interest you, documentaries about sport still might. The character journeys within them are, to use the cliché, often stranger than fiction.
Finally, imagine a screenwriter pitching a film about a revolutionary football team that transformed the sport, reached a World Cup final and captivated an entire generation but just missed out on victory. Then imagine that same team returning four years later for another shot at glory.
You know how that film ends don’t you? Our plucky heroes lifting the trophy to the world’s adoration.
Well in real life the Dutch lost in 1974 and they lost again four years later. There’s your story. Now find a satisfying ending.
The Netherlands did reach one more World Cup final in 2010, but once again there was no happy ending. Worse still, they tarnished their reputation in defeat with a performance that the captain of the great 1970s side described as ‘anti-football’. The beautiful revolutionaries had become physical, cynical and violent.
I might suggest that Ted write the screenplay.
