Kiwi film checkmates the heart
The Dark Horse
There’s nothing like suddenly being aware you’re in the presence of a grandmaster – when you think you know how the game is going to go, then suddenly you’re flat on your back, wondering what hit you. Amazing.
It’s how I felt watching The Dark Horse, the true story of a troubled chess genius who inspired the skills of the board in a generation of East Coast kids.
Allowed to leave a secure mental health facility under his patched, gang-affiliated brother’s care, former chess wunderkind Genesis Potini (Cliff Curtis) has strict instructions to avoid stress and find something positive to focus on.
His brother’s world of violence and macho tension couldn’t be more stressful, of course. Potini finds his positive outlet, though, in a chess club for hard-up local kids.
Although the club’s organisers are dubious of Potini’s ability to stick by the kids, he convinces them to let him try getting the kids ready for a chess tournament in Auckland.
But skirting the group is Mana, Potini’s teenage nephew, who shows real talent for the game. But his father isn’t happy about it.
The Dark Horse’s opening move is a very New Zealand one of mixing bleakness and well-timed humour.
Napier- Robertson has a few tricks up his sleeve, though, adding the underdog hopefulness of a sports film to what could have been a grim outing.
Cliff Curtis delivers powerhouse performance as Potini – a man with a huge heart, struggling to control his mental illness and connect with his community.
That alone would be enough to set The Dark Horse apart, but Curtis is supported by an incredible cast – I defy you not to fall in love with the chess kids.
All told, The Dark Horse is a beautiful film that will stay with you long after you’ve left the cinema, and if that’s not a checkmate, I don’t know what is. *** We lost two cinema greats this week, comic Robin Williams and golden age star, Lauren Bacall.
The tragic death of Williams, who could just as easily move audiences to tears of pathos as tears of laughter, is a devastating reminder of how fine the line between sadness and humour is.
But as I trawl through clips of Williams’ skits and sketches this week, it also reminds us that life is very short and very precious, and that there’s no such thing as too much laughter.
I think Bacall, whose martinidry wit and knack for a pithy oneliner was legendary, would have agreed with that.