From nags to riches

The racehorse Seabiscuit was once described as the Cinderella Horse. This abused, wretched thoroughbred was bought by a kind millionaire, trained by a genius, ridden by a sympathetic jockey, and went on to win a record number of races in Depression-era America.

For the three men who saved Seabiscuit (this is a true story), looking at the poor old nag was like seeing their own reflections in a mirror. They had all raged at the world, hated it and forgotten themselves, at different times.

The millionaire (played by Jeff Bridges) had lost his son and his wife. The trainer (Chris Cooper) was a cowboy who had lived much of his life on the border territories, quiet with grief for the vanishing American West. And the jockey (Tobey Maguire) was the wrong height, the wrong shape, blind in one eye from a boxing injury and very angry.

With this kind of material, this undertone of melancholy, this suggestion that America is made of perpetual itinerants wandering a vast land, Gary Ross's film could easily descend into mush, but it does not. A long-time fan of the racetrack, Ross even insisted on having his bar mitzvah at one, and the film has all the energy of a meet. He sees the track as a place where blood, violence and delight are conditions of living. When he films a race, he directs the jockeys via a wireless communication device, bringing tiny cameras up close to their faces, the clatter and splash, the starter bell's fierce cheep. It makes us feel a sudden rush of love for the horses.

Maguire is terrific. He makes this jockey's life a vivid agony - for long periods, he is sloshed and dazed, venting his disgust at things in a way that convinces you he means it. The actor lost more than three stone to play this part, his body fat an unnatural five per cent, his skin a toneless grey. And he rides like an aesthete - so slim that he would jangle on a clothesline, holding his balance, his concentration absolute.

Altogether, Seabiscuit presents a rather improbable fusion of acting talent. Bridges, with his dignified appearance, smokes as though he is being soothed by the action. Cooper's mouth is set as if he has no teeth, his speech shy and skittish, recalling a bleaker place, a much plainer life. And William H Macy, as a radio announcer ("Who's this little horse going to race next to? Pegasus?"), has a curious "What now?" kind of look. It's impossible not to succumb to them all. Especially the horse.

Seabiscuit
Cert: certPG