Amazon.com
This film about Ethiopian distance runner Haile Gebrsellasie, who won gold at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and is considered one of the greatest runners of all time, is a dramatization that often appears to be a documentary. Beautifully photographed, the footage shot in Haile's native land is often spectacular enough to make you think you're watching a
National Geographic special. Haile's young life, such as a scene when his family is listening to a news report about warfare in Ethiopia and a report comes on about the 1980 Olympics, is portrayed with apparent accuracy, but not without a great deal of drama. There are many scenes of Haile running, past wildlife in the countryside or through crowded city slums, and while this gives what must be an accurate idea of him developing his athletic regimen, this is also not terribly dramatic on camera. Eventually, Haile is shown racing in Atlanta, valiantly overtaking all competition; his family back in Ethiopia is shown gathered around a television set, jubilantly watching his triumph. And while there's no denying that this is a touching and inspiring human story, the slow pace of the presentation tends to work against the inherent drama.
--Robert J. McNamara
Co-produced by Terrence Malick and directed by the British documentarian Leslie Woodhead, this is a serious and surging account of the life and times of the Ethiopian track star Haile Gebrselassie. The times in question are world records; Gebrselassie is, by common consent, the finest distance runner of all time. Americans had their fill of him in 1996, when he took the gold in the ten thousand metres at the Atlanta Olympics, an event that is split into fragments and dotted throughout Woodhead's film. The rest tells of the athlete's childhood in rural Ethiopia, and his determined rise, against the wishes of his father, to the peak of his profession (it feels more like a calling). These scenes are a curious but winning weave of factual history and fictional technique; the young Haile, for instance, is played by the adult Haile's real nephew, and his late mother by his sister. There are moments here that are perhaps too ravishing for their own good-the beauty of the domestic scenes inside the family hut is like an antidote to the brute facts of poverty-and yet, finally, it is impossible not to be stirred by the fluid, frictionless travelling shots of Gebrselassie in motion. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker