A magnificent Mandela but the rugby players were out of shape

Western Mail, 2 February 2010
www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/2010/02/02/a-magnificent-mandela-but-the-rugby-players-were-out-of-shape-91466-25739750/

UNLIKELY as it may seem, the 1995 Rugby World Cup Final proved cathartic for the new South Africa which Nelson Mandela, by then just a year into his presidency, was patiently, determinedly, trying to build against considerable hostility and scepticism from whites.

And this terrific film captures the genius of Mandela through the prism of the game of rugby union, the drama going way beyond the match to crystallise the whole future of a nation. For anybody unfamiliar, it must be difficult to comprehend the fanaticism for their Springbok rugby team amongst South African whites, especially Afrikaners who had invented apartheid. It was akin to a fundamentalist religion for them, making even the most diehard Welsh fan seem indifferent.

So much so that when, in 1969-70, I led an anti-apartheid campaign in Britain to disrupt the Springbok rugby tour by direct action protests, it caused apoplexy in white South Africa.

Conversely, Mandela told me after his release how much of a morale boost the campaign had been to the prisoners on Robben Island, when their white warders had been so wild with infuriation that they blurted out hate for the protesters in breach of the news ban imposed on him and his comrades.

But, by 1995, rugby had turned full circle. Instead of anti-Springbok protests being used as a weapon against apartheid, after that evil system’s overthrow pro-Springbok sentiment was cannily deployed by Mandela as a unifying and healing force.

The film shows how he defied traditional anti-Springbok sentiment amongst the black majority who, under apartheid, had understandably cheered on any other visiting team. Against the wishes of his political advisers, and astonishing the predominantly white crowd at the cup final, he donned a Springbok cap and jersey to meet the teams before the match.

White spectators, previously hostile to their new president (for decades denounced as a “terrorist” ogre) found themselves rising to their feet to chant “Nelson, Nelson”.

I’d wondered whether a Hollywood star, Clint Eastwood, using as the two leading characters Hollywood actors, could possibly capture the essence, even the magic, of that final, of how it became such a unifying force for a society still in a process of fragile transition from white supremacy to majority rule, fear and hostility abounding.

But my doubts were quickly assuaged. The film is subtle in its appreciation of Mandela’s abiding greatness: his popular and personal touch, showing how he insisted on having white protection officers amongst suspicious black ones, on keeping on the white civil servants who had served his white predecessor, and who feared the sack from their new black president.

There are some real gems, wonderful vignettes. Like the black boy straining to listen to the cup final radio commentary on a parked police car, as typically arrogant white police officers tried to swat him away. After the match, the boy dons a police cap as they celebrate joyously together at an unexpected victory by the underdog Springboks over the mighty New Zealanders.

Morgan Freeman plays Mandela majestically, expressing his steely determination, his common humanity, and also his inner loneliness, as if he had given so much to everyone else, nothing was left for himself or even the family he loved. Freeman is pretty good on the Mandela mannerisms, the twinkle in the eye, the self-deprecating humour and the soaring presence which overcomes the halting oratory. He also does the accent remarkably well, as does Matt Damon who brilliantly plays the Afrikaner Springbok captain Francois Pienaar.

Virtually all American and British actors are embarrassingly incapable of doing South African accents; a notable and, to me surprising, exception being Leonardo de Caprio in Blood Diamond. Yet Freeman and Damon do their subjects and the story proud.

The film’s authenticity is enhanced, both by a cast that is predominantly South African, and for being shot entirely on location in the country. A perhaps pedantic quibble: the rugby players look out of condition and middle-aged, even if Clint Eastwood stunningly captures the brutal magnificence of a sport he must hardly have known.

Gripping, moving, and emotional, this is a must, both for those intrigued by Mandela’s South African miracle, and for those simply wanting a damn good watch.