Foxcatcher ★★★½

A three-way grapple (ha!) that unfolds over two halves. I still feel like there's some sort of structural cleverness that I'm not quite getting... or maybe there isn't. It's fascinating and distracting to watch each performance unfold: how these characters are 'othered' in the name of realism or historical accuracy (that nose, that hairline, that bow-legged gait). Masculinities are performed; I still think the strongest scene here is that in which Du Pont feigns his status as head coach in front of his mother (Miller shows only one reaction shot of Ruffalo throughout the entire sequence).

Such othering adds both to the eccentricity of this dramatisation of a very weird real-life story and to the ultimate inscrutability of the causal framework in general and of Du Pont in particular: just why does what happens at the end of this film happen? Loads of interrelated clues are teased at over the course of the film (vanity, jealousy, ego, boredom, wealth, Oedipal desire, alienation, etc.), but on a scene-to-scene level it has a nightmarishly unpredictable quality to it—all rooted in Carell's performance, as a sad loner whose idea of friendship is calamitously informed by a system built on unthinkable wealth: you cannot buy a blood bond.