Inspirational sports dramas usually share key elements — struggle, setbacks, perseverance and hard-fought triumph. Even more effective if the movie centers on a disadvantaged protagonist, either economically or physically, to inject that underdog spirit. Debuting director William Goldenberg has all of that in Unstoppable, the incredible true story of wrestler Anthony Robles, who was born with only one leg but never let that stop him from going after his dream. The special sauce here, however, is the bond of love and support through tough times between Anthony and his mother Judy, stirringly portrayed by Jharrel Jerome and Jennifer Lopez.

Goldenberg is an Oscar-winning editor whose collaborations with lead producer Ben Affleck stretch from Gone Baby Gone through last year’s Air. The latter is an entertaining account of a pivotal moment in the evolution of Nike and there’s a pleasing continuum in the fact that Robles was the first sportsperson signed as a Nike Athlete after he had retired from competitive participation in his field. This moving portrait of him will open in select U.S. and U.K. theaters in December, streaming on Prime Video soon after.

Unstoppable makes winking acknowledgement that it’s not trying to reinvent the formula. A strategically placed Rocky poster on the wall of the garage at home where Anthony works out is one tipoff; another is having him run on crutches up the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps, placing his foot in the print of Rocky Balboa’s trainers, embedded in concrete at the top. It’s a potentially cheeseball moment that instead has an endearing effect, which is characteristic of a movie in which every tearjerking moment fully earns its emotions.

Adapting Robles’ 2012 book, screenwriters Eric Champnella, Alex Harris and John Hindman trace the wrestler’s trajectory from his senior year at Mesa High School in Arizona, when he became a national champion, through his quest, in his final year of eligibility, to win the National Collegiate Athletics Association championship, competing for Arizona State University.

It’s clear from the start that Anthony’s disability doesn’t earn him pity points and clearer still in the proud tenacity of Jerome’s performance that what he wants is exactly the opposite. He’s a young man with a firm goal in his head to become a champion as a way to make people see his achievements first, and not his missing right leg. He has staunch backup every step of the way from Lopez’s Judy, who never gives up on her son, even when she has her own volatile domestic life to manage.

Despite his impressive record in high school wrestling and all the major college scouts having witnessed him in winning form, Anthony gets turned down by his top choices, led by the University of Iowa, whose fabled Hawkeyes are considered titans in the sport. Both Judy and Anthony’s high school coach Bobby Williams (Michael Peña) urge him to accept the full four-year scholarship being offered by Philly’s Drexel University, in fact the only school that wants him. But strong-willed Anthony is hesitant given Drexel’s complete lack of any NCAA wrestling profile.

Out of respect for Williams, Coach Sean Charles (Don Cheadle) at Arizona State agrees to see Anthony. But he’s frank with the kid about ASU already having a full roster of recruits lined up to vie for the wrestling program’s 33 spots and says it’s highly unlikely Anthony would make the team as a walk on (a non-scholarship player). But Anthony is not easily deterred.

At home, Anthony’s father has long been out of the picture. He’s something of a hero to his four younger half-siblings, born after Judy got together with prison guard Rick (Bobby Cannavale). Anthony adores the kids but has a more contentious relationship with his stepfather, a blowhard whose authoritarian streak comes out when he’s banging on about the necessity of making choices in life. All Rick’s blustery “real man” talk is exposed as a sham when it’s revealed that he’s let down the family in a way that could cost them their home. And his treatment of Judy increasingly sets off alarm bells with Anthony.

Goldenberg and the writers deftly balance out the domestic drama with Anthony’s progress at ASU, where he works harder than anyone else in tryouts and shows formidable determination in an arduous three-mile mountain hike, his crutches slipping more than once on the uneven, rocky path. His endurance impresses Coach Charles, but it’s his strength of will on the mats that ultimately wins him a spot.

Robles, who’s now in his 30s, serves as a stunt double for the wrestling scenes in wide and medium shots, with Jerome spliced into the latter and taking over entirely in tight shots. The sports action is visceral and looks painfully real, the violent force of slams and flips likely causing many in the audience to flinch. (OK, I did.)

There are the requisite threats of the dream being snatched away from Anthony, notably when ASU cuts the wrestling program for a year and it’s reinstated thanks to alumni donations but with a reduced team. It’s at that point that the rousing support of Anthony’s teammates becomes evident and as he starts notching up wins, he becomes a favorite with the crowds.

The movie could be accused of aggressively going for the tear ducts when Coach Williams delivers a box stuffed with fan mail from kids inspired by Anthony’s example, encouraging Judy to read them and giving her credit for raising an exceptional young man. Some of Coach Charles’ dialogue toward the end of the film, acknowledging his failure to see Anthony’s capabilities, also spells out in emphatic terms a realization already apparent in the warmth and profound decency of Cheadle’s performance.

But any sense of emotional manipulation in the script is more than justified by the extraordinary human drama of Robles’ story. Alexandre Desplat’s lovely score — which ranges from Ry Cooder-esque guitars to soulful strings and surging piano passages — brings welcome restraint for this type of movie, perhaps knowing that Anthony’s authenticity can stand on its own, without the need for strenuous musical uplift.

The contrast between Rick’s overbearing presence and the stalwart support of both coaches is poignant, and both Peña and Cheadle nail the ways in which their characters’ profession requires them to be as much motivational psychologists as sports strategists.

The dominant relationship though is the mutually protective one between Anthony and his mother. After a couple of disposable Netflix movies in which she was basically playing JLo in the frozen wilderness and JLo in space, Lopez sinks into the character here with a layered performance as Judy, full of pain, pride, bitter disappointment in herself and then unexpected resilience and resourcefulness as she tackles the bank controlling their mortgage.

Some might argue that Judy initially looks a bit glam for a mother of five who clips coupons in a household that’s barely getting by. But Lopez gives a tender and entirely convincing performance as a mother whose unshakeable belief in her son is a crucial part of his foundations.

In his first lead role in a feature, Jerome — who memorably showed the conflicting sides of teenage Kevin, the love of Chiron’s life in Moonlight, and won an Emmy for Ava DuVernay’s When They See Us — is excellent. He gives the movie a fierce beating heart as a young man who remains vulnerable yet refuses to be defined by what others perceive as his weakness.

Given the rules of this biographical subgenre and the fact that the title itself is pretty much a spoiler, there’s no doubt about where the story is headed. But as Anthony obsessively watches videos of the undefeated wrestler destined to be his championship opponent — and winces at the macho arrogance of his coach (Shawn Hatosy), who says, “At Iowa, we believe second is the same as last” — it’s impossible not to root for this guy imbued with such extraordinary fighting spirit or to be moved by his unyielding fortitude.

Goldenberg fumbles a brief coda designed to show how Anthony’s achievements have been celebrated and continue to inspire, which seems both pedestrian and unnecessary. But that minor misstep takes nothing away from the rewards of Unstoppable.

Published 07 September 2024, 02:43 IST

“Are you f— kidding me?” a character whispers to herself, disbelievingly, in “The Front Room” (she’s played by singer-actor Brandy Norwood, returning to horror movies 26 years after “I Still Know What You Did Last Summer”). Her puzzled reaction sums up the experience of watching the outrageous parade of bodily excretion and malevolent smirks that make up the directorial debut of Max and Sam Eggers, working from a short story by English author Susan Hill. The twin filmmakers are half-siblings to Robert Eggers, a more notable name in genre cinema, responsible for “The Witch” and “The Lighthouse.” Yet there are hidden pleasures in this over-the-top, tonally bizarre endeavor by the lesser-known Eggers brothers.

Struggling for money after she leaves her professorship over discrimination, Belinda (Norwood) and her husband Norman (Andrew Burnap), a public defender, are in a bind, one that appears to have a quick fix: After Norman’s father dies, his widow, the über-religious and conniving Solange (Kathryn Hunter), offers to give everything her husband left behind to the couple. The caveat? They must take her in to live with them until her final day.

As someone raised in Solange’s strictly Christian and unapologetically racist household, Norman warns Belinda that his stepmother wouldn’t approve of their interracial marriage. But with a baby on the way, a single income and a house in need of repairs, they accept Solange, a guest who, in time, will insidiously take over their space, thoughts and even the decisions they make as partners.

Hunter’s character is introduced at the funeral covered in a black veil and holding onto two sturdy canes. The sound of those walking sticks against the house’s wooden floors become an unnerving motif. She moves with difficulty, as if awaking from a long slumber. But it’s her high-pitched voice and Southern drawl that complete the façade of harmless and sweet benevolence that initially fools Belinda into trusting her intentions. To make matters worse, Solange believes she holds a special connection to the Holy Spirit that manifests by speaking in tongues.

The frightful premise of “The Front Room” doesn’t nearly prepare you what it delivers: laugh-out-loud punchlines, explosive flatulence and moments of such darkly humorous absurdity that would have a more natural home in a raunchy juvenile comedy. Solange’s disgusting behavior as she torments her housemates is what the Eggers seem to be getting at. She seems to demand as much attention as a newborn infant by weaponizing her exaggerated infirmity.

The perverse playfulness with which Hunter handles even the most grotesque scatological scenes fuels a disturbing yet stellar performance, one that’s far more memorable than the movie as a whole. A revered actor with a long career in the theater and seen in recent films such as “Poor Things” and Joel Coen’s “The Tragedy of Macbeth,” Hunter is a disruptive force. Meanwhile, Norwood’s wide-eyed reactions to the jaw-dropping boldness of Solange’s antics serve as a potent grounding agent, leaving her in a wholly justified state of perpetual shock . If “The Front Room” packs any surprises, they certainly come in how far Solange is willing to take her foul attacks.

The Eggers ultimately weaken their concentrated dose of WTF midnight-movie fun by attempting to smuggle in a deeper commentary on race and the overbearing presence of the Judeo-Christian worldview over American society. The dreamlike mishmash of religious iconography and in-your-face motherhood imagery that Belinda witnesses in ghostly visions reads as derivative and unoriginal. (Try instead the 2022 Mexican standout “Huesera: The Bone Woman,” a supernatural thriller also about the perils of first-time parenting, in which the metaphors are better embedded into the story’s fabric.)

A familiar resolution deflates the status the movie had earned up until that point as a wildly unpredictable work of trashy cleverness. The contrived third act notwithstanding, expect audiences in movie theaters to engage with “The Front Room” in audible gasps, one nauseating stunt at a time.