The Featherweight
“After everything is said and done, how do you want to be remembered?” one asks.
“But the question is don’t you think it’s who thinks about me? ” Bill adds.
After several conversations of a similar ideology, Robert Kolodny’s fictional document The Featherweight proves to be a creative bipolar analysis of its prominent character the man. The same man is PEP , WILLIAM, an American boxing champion and two-time world champion in the Featherweight category who arguably fought one of the largest TV markets everywhere between the late 40s and early to mid fifty’s, he fought nearly 230 fights and has won a great deal of them. And for the time where news footage was all the rage, thanks to a plethora of live news around the world. Then once more, it was 1964. Here, it was now 1964. James Madio portraying a retired Pep, aged 42, after a long spell took off to grab back into the wrestling arena. including a video crew capturing the displays of a momentary rebound. A striking examination on spare parts of struggle and effort taken in a PEP that was supposed to desunable flexurness at mid-cebsitudinal focus of addressing a time vested with fame.
‘The Featherweight’ serves as close to a fly on the wall documentary shading into direct cinema a la the Maysles, as we are placed with Pep, only now we are watching his perilous attempt to restart his career even though we would agree that he is past his peak. For Pep, this documentary is supposed to be a good publicity showcasing the comeback of an old crowned victor he loves so much and shows that he hasn’t lost the eye of the tiger. Of the 90 minutes that follow this statement, the same cameras only serve to expose the cracks that his domestic and work spheres have into them. That is the intriguing essence of Kolodny’s film, where the sounds of the roars of the audience are combined with the dramatic Lives of the fighter and the filmmaker.
Madio inimitably enhances his role as ‘Pep’ which means ‘Costa’ a Sicilian who overly respects himself despite standing at a petty height. And with such a career composed of ‘one night stands’, ex-wives and the hallmarks of age, the boy has taken quite a beating. When we first meet him, he’s perhaps a bit too too eager to recount his past feats, some of which he seems to be adored for by the routine people at the coffee house. However, his business manager (Ron Livingston) and old trainer (Stephen Lang) understand this to be nothing but sad. In every shot he resides, he is coincidentally confronted with his black colleague in the featherweight division, Sandy Saddler (Lawrence Gilliard Jr), whose prime time KO of Pep makes his equally measured plunge into obscurity hurt a lot. A cocky Pep boasted of looking forward to going back into the ring but everyone has had enough of it; the harder he tries to find a fight, the more sad it is.
This time around, his struggle for stability is frustrated by the fact that his domestic situation, in all probability, won’t offer any respite either. At a time when Pep was supposed to be full of energy, Linda (Ruby Wolf), his wife who is significantly younger than him and is his third wife in a row, is trying hard to make her mark as an actress. Your typical tightlipped nonna who relays her messages in Italian so that no one but her may comprehend her curses, Pep’s mother Imma Aiello might even be dubbed as conventional. Then there is also a young fellow named Billy Jr. (Kier Gilchrist) who has a serious issue with Pep’s drug addiction and the fact that he abandoned his mother. At this rate, Willie Pep might consider starting over with the family name Loman.
On the other side, filmmaker Adam Kolodny, Robert’s sibling, manages to reproduce these emotional conflicts in 16mm which bears an exquisite resemblance to the times. To top it all off, everything that pertains to graphics performs generously throughout the 1960s. The movie is a pleasure to watch as everything in it has been done in real time, which is a documentary style. Director Gena Rowlands filmed every scene with Cassavetes-style intensity, allowing the characters’ harmonics to rise above the stunning performances of Otto Preminger and Johnny Mercer. Prior to filming, the actors were given leeway for improvisation, which allows Steve Loff’s film adaptation to retain its fluid and instinctual feel. This is then compounded by Kolodny’s unstable camera, which moves between artists in the manner of an experienced fighter.
However, all the elements which are features, all this rich historical context strikes out a well-known story of the decline of a google which we have seen more than enough times. What, does he feel like an old sportsman who lost touch with how it feels to be at the center of attention, and is trying to win back old glory when all his life is in tatters? Somebody wake me up if this is a new tale. There are also scenes within the narrative where the sense of looseness is so extensive that there is a dragging pace which is common in the second act of the story; for the most part, we, just like Willie, are left in anticipation of the a good scene to show up. But it raises the interesting question of why it is not the case in the second act. The third act, which commences whilst the second act is being brought to a close, is sublime as it is a barrage of personal losses for Willie and a parade of how he has failed others, all in this selfish quest for his glory that nobody cares to find anymore.
However, Kolodny’s most fascinating stylistic device is their gradual awareness of the real implications of exposing oneself and the family to the cameras. As would be predicted in virtually all reality shows, one of them, Willie or Linda, carelessly fouls the scene and subsequently off the record requests the directors, ‘Don’t record that bit.’ (If we are fortunate enough to see it, they, of course, do not). That is an evolution of the drama, the camera makes the characters vulnerable while at the same time selfishly seeking attention from the viewers. This is how things are. This is not in your face material; if anything, it is that polishes the narrative-doc pretense beyond dissatisfaction.
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