>>REVIEW
THE WORLD’S FASTEST INDIAN
Opens Friday, March 24
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Tingles abound in The World’s Fastest Indian, arriving some 35 years after writer-director Roger Donaldson (Thirteen Days, No Way Out) first told the story of New Zealand’s land-speed record holder (Bruce Munro) in a 1971 made-for-Kiwi-TV documentary. As with most "true" stories, Donaldson takes great liberties in this telling of one year in Munro’s life.
The year is 1967 and Munro (Anthony Hopkins) is an endearing 68-year-old New Zealander suffering from a bad heart, prostate problems and a life-long dream of racing his self-modified 1920 Indian motorcycle at Utah's Bonneville Salt Flat. The problem is, Munro doesn’t have anywhere near the kind of cash needed to make such a trek, nor does anyone in his otherwise quiet town appear to take his dream seriously. But the old coot is powered by sheer mortal drive, so, after signing over his land to the bank, he and his beloved Indian are soon on a boat bound for Los Angeles. What follows is a series of encounters with a small sample of gentle American eccentrics (all of whom the empathetic Munro readily connects with) as he adapts to the cosmopolitan way while pushing forward to his destiny.
Essentially a hackneyed string-puller, the film relies heavily on the authority of Hopkins’s genial performance to overpower viewer cynicism. Better still is the complete lack of obligatory conflict infused into the story to generate tension; any hint of antagonism is quickly done away with by simple human integrity, and what we’re left with is an underdog road movie that is both derivative and sweet.
Yes, Munro’s story is blatantly reconstructed and idealized (like every memory I’ve ever had). So what? If you can still feel the tingle, you’re doing OK. |
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