These two halves add up to a hole in one

Tiger

Crave

Tiger Woods's story was easy to read as the most inspiring in American sports until the moment it became among the most depressing. On one side of the pivot point of November 2009 sits a life lived in public as an athlete bound for glory from his earliest days, treated as a Messianic figure by his overweening father and, as a culture-shifting superstar by the media. On the other, after Woods's double life was suddenly and publicly ripped open, sits scandalous ignominy that, as Woods's preternatural athletic gifts slipped away with age, could no longer merely be clawed through with athletic achievement.

These two halves to Woods's life so far form the two parts of HBO's excellent new documentary Tiger, a project that brings together an unusual serious-mindedness with as rare a gift of pacing. This series makes elegant and understated arguments about celebrity, race and a seemingly unknowable public figure who's long sat at their intersection.

Executive-produced by Alex Gibney and drawing upon the authoritative biography by Jeff Benedict and Armen Keteyian (who are also among the executive producers), Tiger takes a linear path through the Woods story, beginning with a childhood talk-show appearance and success as an amateur before young Woods dropped out of Stanford. Rich with interviews and with archival footage, Tiger jams its two instalments (both under two hours), with the sort of densely packed detail that allows any potential viewer to stumble into an epiphany.

Consider, for instance, Woods's disinclination to refer to himself as Black in public, despite the media (and potent Nike campaign that helped build Woods's legend) positioning his successes as wins for the Black community and despite notes of caution from commentators during Woods's rise that, should he fall from grace, he would not be afforded the mercy society grants a white man. Or the oddly apt fact that Woods became obsessed with scuba diving, a way to bring a gift for obsessive control to bear on the pursuit of utter solitude.

These are allowed to breathe without relentless massaging in part because the documentary doesn't press its case too hard.

Tiger operates with a sort of allusive spareness, trusting its audience to draw connections more than do many projects of its nature in our explain-everything age. Woods's mistress Rachel Uchitel's appearance cements a sophisticated argument, dredged up from the tabloid morass of Woods's last decade-plus of public life. The “good” half of Tiger Woods's life, beginning with the young athlete trotting the links before he could speak, wasn't so good.

And, perhaps, freed from the impossible burdens of changing the world, the bad half isn't so bad. Toward Tiger's conclusion, its subject speaks less haltingly, and with a perspective that, if he possessed earlier in his career, he withheld in favour of an enigmatic stillness.

A clear-eyed appraisal of fame and its aftermath, Tiger is urgent and powerful viewing that withholds judgment, but nothing else.

HBO Tiger Woods's father Earl, right, obsessively groomed his son for athletic stardom, which he attained and later somewhat lost. The whole story is depicted in the engrossing new two-part HBO documentary, Tiger.