This movie had very little to do with hockey.
Our protagonist, Tyson Burr (Jared Abrahamson), is a defenceman, but we rarely see him on the ice. The opening scene shows him fighting another player, but after the first 20 minutes or so, hockey isn't even a part of the film anymore.
Tyson is an enforcer. His coach praises him for the fight in the opening shot. He gets a firm pat on the back during practice when he digs for a puck in the corner so hard that he ends up shoving his teammate — “That's what I want to see from you, man. Do more of that.” Those close to him joke that hockey players are an easier home security solution than Rottweilers.
Tyson is rugged and tough. He knows his role and he's happy to play it — and everyone around him is more than happy to encourage it.
The film deftly switches gears when Tyson lands a hit on an opponent that sends him to the hospital. In an instant, Tyson's social net falls out as teammates, coaches, friends and family distance themselves from him.
Tyson's role as an enforcer is to protect his team, but when it comes time for his team to protect him, they're nowhere to be found. His team “takes responsibility” by placing the blame squarely on his shoulders in a statement that they prepare for him.
This is where the allegory makes itself known — we push violence on those in roles we deem as acceptably violent, but when the consequences of that violence come, we are more than happy to wash our hands of it.
The film's director, Kevan Funk, grew up in a hockey town and it shows. The dialogue was absolutely spot-on as anyone who has spent time around hockey players or even small-town Canada will tell you.
Abrahamson's role mostly asked him to convey “angry” and “melancholy,” and he was extremely adept at pulling it off. Being labeled a bad seed in a small community carries a crushing weight and Abrahamson was able to show just that. Where Abrahamson's performance really stood out was when Tyson struggled to communicate, conveying the terror and difficulty of expressing emotion through avenues other than rage.
The flaws I could find in this movie were few and mostly subjective. Funk and cinematographer Benjamin Loeb seem to have an affinity for ultra close-ups of their actors' faces as well as off-screen action. These techniques work well when used sparingly — we're often forced to confront the claustrophobia Tyson's feeling head-on — but too much, and one feels as though the protagonist's viewpoint is the only thing we're allowed to see.
Finally — let's face it — you could see the ending coming from a mile away. That's not to say I could suggest a better one and I'm sure Funk would agree that the story is less important than the point that it makes, but it's still a little disheartening when you can call what is supposed to be a tragic finale halfway through the movie.
That said, none of these points seriously took away from my enjoyment of the film and the weight of the subject was handled very well by Funk and his cast.
If you're looking for a thought-provoking, realistic, heavy dismantling of institutionalized masculine violence, this is what you want to see. Hockey knowledge is not required.
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