Borg Vs McEnroe (15)

Janus Metz

THESE days the top of the male tennis rankings is such a polite place. There’s nice Roger Federer, sweet Rafael Nadal, honourable Novak Djokovic and Scotland’s own Andy Murray, who never misses a chance to stick up for gender equality. Murray has the closest to what you might call a temper, though it’s invariably directed at himself. It’s all so gentlemanly, to the point of being bland.

Back in the 1970s, men’s tennis had more volatility, from the likes of Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe. The latter’s foul-mouthed rants at officials, fans and passing pigeons turned the air blue and, almost as though by design, disturbed his opponent’s game far more than his own.

But two shouty tennis gods throwing rackets at each other is less interesting than a good guy versus a villain. And that’s why the brief rivalry between the emerging McEnroe and the impeccably behaved Swede Björn Borg was so riveting.

To the outside world, the so-called Ice Borg and Superbrat were polar opposites: the Swede a metronomic, nay monotonous baseline player, McEnroe a sublime serve and volleyer; Borg emotionless on court, which meant he didn’t offend anyone, McEnroe a firebrand who was frequently booed.

The most surprising and intriguing aspect of this biographical drama – which stars Sverrir Gudnason as Borg and Shia LaBeouf as McEnroe – is its suggestion that the two men were not so different after all. While the plot revolves around the first Wimbledon final between the two, in 1980, when the American posed a real threat to the Swede’s hope of winning a record-breaking five finals on the trot, the meat of the drama is a psychological character study.

The film shifts between Wimbledon – the build-up and each player’s progress to the final – and back into the past, and their youthful beginnings in the game. The emphasis is on Borg's, showing the gifted youngster as an appalling loser whose tantrums would have ended his career before it started, had it not been for the trainer (Stellan Starsgård), who taught him to put a lid on the volcano.

Years later, we’re invited to see Borg’s infamous tournament rituals and even his relentless playing style as ways of keeping his demons in check. The difference between him and McEnroe is that if the Swede loses his cool, he’ll lose his game, while the American thrives on confrontation.

McEnroe is shown as a more straightforward product of demanding parents, nurtured to accept nothing short of perfection. As with their playing styles, he is the more entertaining personality – restless and calculating, playing mind games even with his fellow American and good friend on the eve of a match. He’s a scallywag, but a strangely likeable one.

The casting of the leads is excellent, inside and out. It’s tempting to think that Shia LaBeouf has learned from his own PR disasters to nail McEnroe’s prickly persona. And Swede Sverrir Gudnason captures his isolated, tormented, fame-averse superstar to perfection.

Director Janus Metz doesn’t altogether escape the curse of the tennis movie – from the dire romantic drama Players in 1979 to the romcom Wimbledon in 2004, these films don’t soar in the same way as a good baseball or American football movie can. Perhaps that’s because it’s difficult to fake top-class tennis, and so there’s a lack of authenticity in the dramatic moments of the games; Metz’s solution to the problem – to use lots of close-ups – doesn’t save what was a supremely tense final from becoming rather staid on screen.

And off court, there’s too much Borg, not enough McEnroe. The result, while certainly fascinating, feels more like a film played from the baseline than as a serve and volley.