James Toback is a trusted friend and confidante and Mike Tyson is one of the producers of “Tyson,” so when he adamantly refutes his 1996 rape charge that he spent 3 years in prison for, calling his accuser Desiree Washington a “wretched swine of a woman,” you won’t see her side of the story.
In fact, you won’t see anyone elses side of the story in Toback’s monologue-indulging, long, wistful-looks-at-the-beach gazing, what-have-I-done-with-my-life, sunstroked remembrances of a documentary. Aside from newsreel footage of ex-wife Robin Givens, trainer Cus D’Amato, and various opponents, no one else gives (is allowed?) their current-day perspective on Tyson. The 90min-ish doc is literally Tyson, Toback and two cameras rolling for what is probably hours (or days) on end interspersed with pre-existing footage. That’s it.
And as much as this seems heavily biased, the self-reflective documentary is balanced by the incredibly candid and sometimes too-brutally truthful fighter. Mike Tyson is a humbled, articulate and self-aware man, but still his own worst enemy. And this naked, raw, self psycho-analysis-ologue of a picture is some fascinating stuff that partially reveals the acidic and well-intentioned demons the pugilist is constantly at war with. Much like Tyson’s erratic personality the doc vacillates between contrite and introspective to snarling caged-dog-anger when cornered by some off-screen question posited by Toback.
As we mentioned, Toback is a friend of Tyson’s, and many of the director’s motivations within the doc appear as a strange blend of genuine affection, willful P.R. rehabilitation and, in some cases, manipulative white man’s guilt (see GQ’s rather interesting, but damning take on Toback’s relationship to Iron Mike, it’s not without its valid points, but perhaps a bit too cynical about motivation; unfortunately it doesn’t seem to be online).
We’re reintroduced to the savagery and ferocity of a then 21-year-old, youngest-ever heavyweight champion who demolished opponents with a brutal and visceral intensity. The doc opens up with the fighter eviscerating a minor nuisance of an opponent-gnat, dispatching him with animal precision only to quickly fade out to let Tyson tell his own tale. The abrupt dissolve to black is an incisive reminder of a monumentally auspicious career that flamed out far to quickly.
From there, the doc unveils itself in predictable and orderly chronological fashion, as Tyson gives first-person accounts of his troubled youth (muggings, a broken home, and fights) and the time he met his first anchor – the loving and self-esteem producing mentor Gus D’Amato who took the kid from the New York streets and turned him into unassailable juggernaut of a champion, all the while accomplishing the impossible: earning the explicit trust of the cagey, hyper insecure fighting machine.
So earnest and sincere was D’Amato’s nurturing patronage that the mentor became more than a father figure to young Iron Mike – he became a temple for the eagerly malleable disciple to worship under. Under D’Amato’s aegis, Tyson bloomed as both boxer and human being, cultivating once non-existent self-esteem, confidence and a non-destructive attitude towards the world – even sometimes marginal trust towards others. However, when Gus passed away before Tyson could become champion, his death acts as a catalyst for Tyson’s rather spectacular unraveling.
At this point the film builds to a wilderness-lost period before Tyson eventually loses the championship to an outclassed bum he would have normally eaten for breakfast had he been focused. But focus lost, it’s pretty much all downhill from here and you know the story; rematches, premature wedding to a wife who sold him out on Babba Wabba (which still feels like an awful betrayal even now), jailtime for rape, a comeback, the loss of a title and a ear gnawing event that would destroy his career.
And wisely, Tyson gives a mea culpa for most of it, admitting he was too immature and ill-equipped motionally to handle everything that transpired after the passing of D’Amato (most of it, anyhow). The boxer obviously vehemently rips his rape accuser to shred, denies the charges and all but admits he sexually assaulted other women, but not her. Christ. These are particular parts where it gets brutal and Tyson totally hangs himself and you have to give Toback credit for including some of these corrosively ugly admissions.
Some moments are out of context and thrown in for no particular reason, but they do convey a manic insecurity and the capacity towards random outbursts of violence — as in a ’90s boxing conference when a reporter calls him out and Tyson lashes out like a feral beast, screaming epithets and inexplicably calling the journo a “faggot” and threatening to ass rape him “like a bitch” right there and then. Its moments like these that illustrate how frighteningly offensive and unhinged he could once be; you believe in that scene he could literally eat that man alive and wholeheartedly enjoy it.
Toback illuminates for those of us that stopped paying attention to the fighter after the 2nd Evander Holyfield loss (which ruined him for good) was just how brutally bad Tyson disgraced himself, persisting to box and pathetically losing match after match to nobodies. His final match includes a post-match interview where he admits taking the fight for cash and that his heart is no longer in boxing. Its perhaps one of the saddest and hardest to watch moments in the history of sports.
As you’d probably expect , Tyson is both a tragedy and a largely lionizing tale of survival (Tyson seems genuinely surprised he’s still alive) and as much as that’s cliché, that’s essentially the final graph to the thesis. Still as troubled and thorny as Toback’s doc can be at times (ethical exploitation or otherwise), it’s still a compelling portrait of a fascinating figure. You’re not necessarily rooting for him by the end, but you’re also glad he hasn’t given up the ghost either. [B] “Tyson” comes out in limited release this weekend (April 24). Here’s the trailer if you missed it.