When We Were Serfs...

Rating: 4/10 (9 July 2002)

Cassius Clay [Smith] overcomes many obstacles (including his name) to be the Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World.
Oh dear! Surely the basic tenet of a biopic is to tell the viewer something about the title character above and beyond the collection of cliches and soundbites we've already come to know and...
Michael Mann must have had the best intentions here, I mean - God knows he's not a bad director; but this (away from the acting and some slick editing) is a cinematic mess! When a movie exploring the life of one person throws up more questions for the viewer than answers, I think we've got ourselves a problem. Muhammad Ali was one of the finest boxers of the 20th Century. Does this film tell us why he became a boxer? NO. Does it tell us what drove him so much as a boxer? NO. Does it even tell us how he really considered each victory and the occasional defeat? NO. He was a scandalous womaniser. Do we find out why? NO. We just observe that he seemingly had to act like a slag. Do we discover how this tallied with his deep Muslim faith? NO. We don't even discover WHY he was so desperate to have a deep Muslim faith! (Despite the consternation of his family and no matter how flawed and selective he was about Islam's role in his life!!). In short - it's FAQ off! (So to speak). Anything you wanted to know about the title character of this film will not be on view for the entire, overlong duration of this film.
My biggest unanswered bugbear though regards Ali's name change from Cassius Clay. If it was purely a slave reason then surely all he needed to remove was the name Clay as that was the only association with some distant anaemic 'master'. The name Cassius was a result of his Romanophile father. How does that link to slavery? Are you a slave if your parents dictate your name? (This debate has a certain infinity about it...!!!) Whatever. The upshot is that this film tells us that the slave name - Clay - was removed first making him Cassius X and then the whole name was changed. And unless you have a fluid understanding of the Islamic faith - this film never explains why! Indeed, because Mann (et al!) decided that clever (and obtuse) cinematic collages were the key elements of this film in deference to any attempt at narrative, we learn precious little about what made Ali take most (if any) of his steps to glory and infamy. In fact, by half-way into the film, you are left with the (surely unintentional) impression that Ali was an arrogant, bigoted, misogynist arse-hole who deserved any misfortune that came his way. Brave film-making indeed!!??!!
The vast majority of this confused picture is both morally and emotionally muddy. Ali's romances suffer from a painful mixture of bad underwriting and way OTT pithy (and sadly, dirgy) soundtracks. {Fans of black music may feel somewhat cheated here as the verging-on-racist soundtrack would seem to suggest that African American's have only ever written maudlin, self-pitying ballads. Mann (or whoever!) seems to have suffered a blinkered amnesia when it comes to the likes of Chuck Berry; Jackie Wilson the Supremes et al. All contemporaries of Ali and all conspicuously absent in this film's mundane musicality.} As to the writing. It puts rubbish in the mouths of minor supporting characters {some spurious trash about Lennon being the only smart Beatle is incredible!} and soundbites in the mouth of it's lead. Virtually the only interesting things poor Muhammad seems to have to say for himself are in press conferences or in the ring; and sadly, these remain the film's only few highpoints. The bouts are powerfully done and Ali's relationship with Howard Cosell [a knockout(!) Voight] give the film some rare and welcome warmth. Likewise, a press conference with Don King [a wonderful Mykelti Williamson] and Angelo Dundee [a faultless but woefully underwritten and underused Ron Silver] provides Ali with his most solid show of humanity as he defends his training mentor (Dundee)against a typically robust King. It also sadly reminds us of another missed relationship opportunity. Instead, the film concentrates on an overstretched exposition of Ali's totally naive admiration for the notorious black leader, Malcolm X [a distinguished Mario van Peebles], a relationship which turns sour for the most unconvincing of reasons: Namely, that Malcolm wanted to take a different direction from his Muslim overlords. Clearly self determination was only something Ali was allowed. (Frankly, I reckon the relationship was doomed as long as Malcolm hung on to his Western Christian name!). As it is, Malcolm is portrayed as by far and away the better human being. Again. This cannot be the intention?? Michael??
But what about Smith? Well. He's outstanding. But he's given no help whatsoever by writer or director because - and this is the tragedy of it all - this is a whole lot of nothing movie! It has no heart. It attempts to show you it's trying it's hardest when we can all see the naked Emperor it really and truly is! It's just a collection of soundbites and highlights. Handbags and gladrags. It's a gross disappointment and not worthy of the name it purports to celebrate.
Don't watch this film.