a still from the film
It was one of the greatest betrayals of trust the world has ever witnessed.
We all know the story - of the man who won the Tour de France seven times. Who survived testicular cancer. Who's been an inspiration to millions.
Which is why when Lance Armstrong confessed to having doped through his entire career, the man became the most publicly disgraced athlete since OJ Simpson.
Hardly charismatic in himself, the reason the public took the cyclist to their heart was because of what he symbolised. Affirming the human capacity for triumph over adversity, his fight against cancer and subsequent charity work made him an easy figure to root for.
And Stephen Frears' Lance Armstrong (played superbly here by Ben Foster) biopic doesn't shy away from painting the fallen hero for what he is - an egotistical asshole whose sole focus is on winning and post-win gloating.
The film is based on a book on him written by journalist David Walsh (Chris O'Dowd) - the man who doggedly pursued his suspicion that Armstrong was using performance-enhancing drugs.
Doping in Le Tour did not start with Armstrong obviously, but Armstrong just perfected the use of performance-enhancing drugs, and how to hide them, with the help of an equally sinister doctor, Michele Ferrari (Guillaume Canet).
The movie excels in analysing this, showing us just how organised the system was.
Frears offers a comprehensive set of indictments: the people who ran the sport, the media who ignored the signs, the athletes who went along, the sponsors who didn't care, and the public, who wanted to believe in the fairy story.
But the biggest issue is that there is no real insight into the man. He's married and has kids, but expect for a two-second wedding, there's no sign of a family.
The films greatest strength however lies in its central performance. Foster manages to play Armstrong with a sort of cold fury, barely an ounce of human feeling.
The drugs are at the centre of The Program, but of course there's more to the story than that. But it's disappointingly rushed, barrelling towards the perfunctory conclusion - the landmark confessional interview with Oprah Winfrey. Sadly, there's no scene to explain exactly why he made that decision to confess - a decision that could in no way have been easy - taking away some of the moral complexity the story has to offer.
Characters are also introduced and disappear again as the plot demands - which means there's barely any character development.
This is extremely noticeable in the case of Floyd Landis (played by an under-used Jesse Plemons) whose devoutly Mennonite upbringing was sometimes at odds with a career in cycling; an interesting premise. The film seems to want to explore this issue, but it ends up merely using the issue, more than once, as a shortcut to justify the next plot development.
But worst of all, the racing scenes in a film that espouses cycling as the exciting, dynamic, fast-paced sport are dull.
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