The World's Fastest Indian

I saw a lovely little film a couple of weeks back that I keep thinking of and wanting to write about: "The World's Fastest Indian." The film stars Anthony Hopkins as New Zealander Burt Munro, who, in his sixties, became the world's land speed record holder on his 1920 Indian motorcycle. This movie is so full of small pleasures, quiet humor, perfect period details and lovely actions and reactions by Hopkins that I enjoyed myself completely while I let the story wash over me.

Some have felt it too sweet and too pat a story, sort of a "chick flick for guys," as one imdb.com member put it, and one can tell from the beginning in what general direction the movie will go. The writing doesn't match the quality of the story, direction or Hopkins' acting, but the undeniable power and appeal of the underlying true story and Hopkins' dry wit and careful performance save it from being painfully sweet. The art direction was spot-on, and the visuals pulled forth so many pleasing sense memories from the back of my mind. Burt's shed (also his home) and his clothes and surroundings brought forth the memory of the pleasingly acrid, greasy tang of old motor oil in a rickety shed housing an old vehicle; the feel of the broken-in leather on an old motorcycle seat; the pleasing patina of heavy chrome-plating.

Some details didn't ring true and were indeed too pat; many of the supporting characters felt contrived and their dialog rang false, but the center of nearly every scene is Burt himself, and the determined, quiet way that Hopkins holds the story together by being completely present and aware, and looking as if each thought or action had just occurred to him at that moment, brings an element of reality to the story that held my interest and gave me continuing pleasure from start to finish. The story is also just a remarkably good one: if I didn't know it was based on a true one, I would have found it farfetched, but it's simply a genuinely inspiring true-life tale.

So much of good acting is believable reaction, seeming to be in the moment and responding viscerally and immediately, appearing to be thinking a thought at the same moment that the audience member thinks it, showing complete respect and immersion in the story's version of reality, and not showing off preparation and craft by overacting or pandering. This role is in the vein of other beautiful, contained performances by Hopkins in films like "Remains of the Day," "Howard's End" and "The Elephant Man." When he plays careful, contained men who let their emotional vulnerability slip out from behind a mask of composure and certitude in rare moments, I find him mesmerizing. When he lets himself play a psychopath, like Hannibal Lecter, or a sniveling schemer, like Richard in "The Lion in Winter," or a man who loses his grasp on his life and undermines his happiness by losing his temper in the fine but little-seen "The Good Father," he's also impressive. But I love him best when he plays the man with the stiff upper lip who crumbles just enough under pressure to show us what he's really made of, for good or ill.

Director Roger Donaldson also directed Hopkins to wonderful effect in the 1984 film "The Bounty" about the famous mutiny at sea led by Fletcher Christian against his captain, William Bligh. Mel Gibson plays Christian, and he's worth watching not only because it's one of his strongest performance but also, I will admit, because it was filmed at the apogee of his once-considerable beauty. However, the film's success really hangs on Hopkins' performance, and it is a fine one of both boldness and subtlety.