Quite the year, 1994. O.J. dominated the news. “Pulp Fiction” minted Harvey Weinstein and Quentin Tarantino as Hollywood heavy hitters. Then there was the sad saga of Tonya and Nancy, a relative footnote by comparison but gonzo enough to become tabloid fodder and seize the public’s attention. We all know what happened – or think we do: The darling and the obstreperous outsider going toe loop to toe loop, vying to be America’s figure-skating princess, then a lead pipe to the knee and instant villainy. Trial by press, as we’ve come to know so well these days, can be swift and without appeal. Such seemed to be the case for Tonya Harding after the hit on rival Nancy Kerrigan during their competition in Detroit preceding the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway.
Less interested in right or wrong or justifications than it is about soul and motivation, Craig Gillespie’s sharp, witty “I, Tonya” plays fast and loose as it untangles the messy threads of Harding’s life, from humble origins with a controlling – if not abusive – mother to the fierce competitive could-be and a multitude of poor choices.
Screenwriter Steven Rogers, best known for his work on rom-coms such as “Hope Floats” and “Stepmom” (both in 1998) dug deep into the archival footage and interviewed the interested parties (Harding was involved in helping craft the narrative) to pull together what one might describe as the American Dream gone sideways. Just how close to the truth “I, Tonya” comes might be debatable, but it’s a wondrously compelling human drama armed with the fangs of dark comedy and fueled by outré plot twits that feel lifted right out of “Fargo” – a winning formula if ever there was one. Continue reading
For What it's Worth 