Bully
Lee Hirsch's much buzzed-about documentary Bully arrives in theaters riding a ten-foot-tall wave of self-importance. Besides taking on a hot-button issue (bullying, obviously) and nabbing big celebrity endorsements (Ellen DeGeneres and Drew Brees among them), the film also just endured a bruising battle with the bullies at the MPAA ratings board, which upheld its original R-rating (for language -- specifically six swear words, including the F-bomb), leading The Weinstein Company to release it into theaters unrated. The story around Bully has gotten so big, it's actually overwhelmed the documentary itself; it would be completely understandable if, despite all the hype, moviegoers actually avoided the movie this weekend under the impression that they already know everything it has to offer. That's certainly the way I felt coming out of the theater. Hirsch's intentions with this documentary are entirely commendable: he wants to put a human face on a subject that's too often discussed in the abstract in the hopes it will make viewers learn to recognize the signs of bullying in others as well as themselves. But in practice, Bully feels too diffuse and simplistic to really do this topic justice. It demands the formal and investigative rigor of a Frederick Wiseman film (director of such immersive documentaries as High School and Domestic Violence), not the kids'-gloves treatment that Hirsch ultimately provides here.

Let's be absolutely clear: in no way does Bully's failings as a film invalidate or minimize the anguish that the young subjects that Hirsch profiles experienced at the hands of their peers (and, in some cases, adults). As a father myself, hearing some of the stories these kids tell made me concerned for the way my own kids might be treated -- or may treat others -- when they reach their tween and teen years. Hearing the confusion and helplessness expressed by their parents is also affecting; the movie opens with the father of a 17-year-old bullying victim who took his own life describing how his son's happy childhood (complete with home videos depicting a smiling, lively child) eventually gave way to a teenage existence marked by almost daily emotional and physical trauma. Later on, a scene where the father of another bullied suicide victim -- an 11-year-old boy -- walks into the child's funeral gently telling his wife that they're going to tuck their son into bed one last time put a lump in my throat that still hasn't dislodged itself. Hirsch has also found a likeable central character in the form of Alex, a bespectacled 12-year-old with squished facial features ("Fish Face" is one of the kinder names he's called by his classmates) and a mostly upbeat attitude in the face of the insults and pencil-stabs he receives at school and on the bus. When his parents insist to the school administrators that their son should be able to walk into school each day feeling as though he's entering safe, welcoming environment, it's hard not to sympathize with their frustration.

But the "us vs. them" mentality on display in this scene also highlights one of the movie's central problems: as depicted here, bullying always seems to come down to clear-cut cases of bad kids taking advantage of good kids. And while it sometimes is just that simple, there's often much more complex forces at work on both sides -- the bullied and the bullies. (It's worth noting that Hirsch exclusively profiles victims in the movie; little attempt is made to understand what forces and pressures might cause a kid to want to last out at someone else.) The film's two most interesting case studies tangentially acknowledge this; take 16-year-old Kelby, the only openly gay teen in her small Oklahoma town. Almost immediately after coming out, she and her family became pariahs in the community, particularly at school, where both teachers and students openly insult and demean Kelby without fear of reprisal from the administration. In this case, bigotry and ignorance is obviously at the root of the bullying she endures, although again, none of her tormentors appear on camera to confirm this. (Not that they likely ever would -- cowardice is often a side effect of bigotry.) Even more compelling is the story of Ja'Meya, a 14-year-old African American girl who was so exhausted of the taunting she endured, she brought her mother's gun onto her school bus and was subsequently arrested and locked away in juvenile detention. This case winds up receiving the least amount of screentime, perhaps because it raises questions that Hirsch isn't prepared to explore, most notably what constitutes appropriate retaliation against bullies. While the film stops short of outright excusing Ja'Meya's decision to carry a loaded firearm on a school bus, that choice is primarily presented as one more example of her victimization.

It would perhaps be naïve to think that a single movie could ever fully explain why bullying exists, just as it's naïve for Bully itself to suggest, as it ultimately does, that it can be defeated through rallies, Facebook groups and everyone just generally being nicer to each other. (Although that latter suggestion would be a step in the right direction.) As an adult, what Hirsch is either unwilling or unable to remember is that school -- from kindergarten up through grade 12 -- isn't solely a place for reading, writing and arithmetic: it's also a microcosm for the world at large, filled with individuals who are each learning to navigate complex social situations as well as questions of morality and ethics. While these kids need guidance, understanding and a patient ear, imposing too many artificial regulations (beyond the obvious, like no killing other students in the hallways) on this kind of environment with the intention of dictating their behavior would be, in a sense, a form of bullying. (Not to mention the fact that bullying doesn't automatically go away after you graduate high school; it just takes on different forms.) In the face of the these deeper, more resonant questions, Bully unfortunately flinches and backs down.

Goon
Direct from our good neighbors to the north, here's two winning underdog sports movies for the price of one. Although ostensibly a film about Canada's top national pastime -- no, not tossing back Tim Hortons' Timbits, hockey! -- Goon also doubles as a boxing flick, complete with a Rocky Balboa-type hero whose chief attribute as a fighter is his ability to take a licking and keep on ticking. That would be die-hard puck lover Doug Glatt (Seann William Scott), a bouncer who embarks on a whole new career path when he's attacked in the stands by a hockey player and shrugs off a few wicked blows to a head before decking the guy with one punch. All of this is captured on videotape by Doug's best friend Ryan (Jay Baruchel, who also co-wrote the screenplay) and the clip instantly become a viral sensation. Before he knows it, Doug is drafted into the minor leagues as a "goon" -- a guy who takes to the ice specifically to dish out (and take) punishment so that the rest of his teammates can skate safely by. Eventually, he's dispatched to a team in Halifax, where the star player (Marc-Andre Grondin) is still recovering from a bruising fight with the league's most feared goon, Ross "The Boss" Rhea (Liev Schreiber, absolutely hilarious as the Clubber Lang to Scott's Italian Stallion). After a rough adjustment period, Doug soon settles into his role (and finds his own Adrian in the form of Alison Pill's Eva) and the team starts winning, setting the stage for the inevitable Big Game/Fight, where Doug and Ross confront each other in a showdown for the ages.

Those expecting a broad comedy a la Major League may be surprised by Goon's relative lack of big laughs, as well as the bloodiness of its brawls. (Let's just say that more than a few teeth get dislodged, often in slow-motion.) Instead, the filmmakers have taken their cue from more down-to-earth sports pictures like Bull Durham and, of course, Slap Shot. And while it's not quite on the level of either of those movies, Goon is enormously entertaining and, in its own offbeat way, a real charmer. It's also a great showcase for Scott, who proves he's capable of evolving beyond the loudmouth a-hole he's been typecast as ever since the first American Pie movie. (Too bad he's already returning to that role in next week's American Reunion.) There are certainly areas where Goon could have been improved; as lively a presence as Pill is, it's a shame that the only wrinkle the writers have added to her designated love interest role is making Eva a self-proclaimed slut. (Really progressive of you there, guys.) Overall though, this is one of 2012's nicest surprises.
(In addition to its limited theatrical release, Goon is also available via most On Demand outlets.)

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