Partly because my husband is ga-ga for all things bicycle and I'm the most awesome wife in the world, and partly because I'm now obsessed with my spinning classes, I rented a movie about a cyclist last night. I had low expectations. One, I'd never heard of the movie before. Two, I'd never heard of any actors in the movie. Three, the last such film I rented from Blockbuster looked like someone made a home movie. In one take. With bad lighting. And microphones from a portable karaoke machine.
I was beyond "pleasantly surprised."
The Flying Scotsman, a 2006 film nominated for five BAFTA Scotland Awards for best actor, actress, director, film, and screenplay, depicts the true story of Graeme Obree, a champion cyclist who built his bicycle from old bits of washing machines and won his championship only to have his title stripped from him. It also delves into his mental health problems, which are not specifically spelled out but which I've read include a longstanding battle with bipolar disorder.
It's subtle; viewers aren't whacked over the head with life lessons. Although it is still a sports flick, filled with action, suspense and a predictable battle between the hero, his competitors, and most of all his own demons.
And I praise the DVD for having closed captioning in English. Have you ever listened to the fine folks of Scotland carry on an everyday conversation? They may be speaking English, but it's unlike anything I've ever heard before. And at triple speed. For the first 15 minutes, every time someone opened his mouth, I turned to Tim with a hitched eyebrow and puzzled, "Whassesayin'?" Even with the Scottish limbs on my family tree, my ancestors have not passed on an inherent ability to intepret Gaelic brogue. (Of course, I've figured out what teeter totter foods are, so maybe there's hope.)
I'd recommend it in a second. Even if the last bicycle you rode had training wheels and you'd never be caught dead in spandex.
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