Invictus

These days you know what to expect from a Clint Eastwood film: a seemingly effortless, well-made film containing first-rate performances, but probably not the most challenging, cutting edge cinema-outing of the year (he can leave that to others) Invictus fits the pattern, focussing on Nelson Mandela's plan to unite his divided nation behind the Springboks at the 1995 World Cup, in the face of opposition from his supporters and the lingering fall-out from apartheid.
Eastwood cannily constructs the film around a series of oppositions - at the most basic, black v. white; the formers' love of soccer v. the latters' love of rugby; the old regime and the new; the demands of the country and the demands of the personal. Both serious and humorous points emerge through these contrasts: the Afrikaaner Presidential staff packing up because they assume they will be sacked because a) they're white and b) they worked for De Klerk; the black bodyguards' horror when Mandela assigns a group of white security veterans to increase their numbers (this scene also contains some priceless macho bristling as the two groups try to stare down each other); the township kids who hate rugby but adore Chester, the one black Springbok. As Mandela's plan takes shape and he enlists the beleagured rugby captain to his cause, these divisions slowly begin to dissolve. The security detail are spotted playing touch rugny on the lawn, and the black contingent even get caught up in the World Cup excitement almost despite themselves; the Springboks township coaching sessions progress from sullen reluctance by the players to a joyous satisfaction; the rugby crowds that gave Mandela a decidely mixed reception at the beginning are roundly cheering by the end.
The film also nicely gets those perennials such as being stuck somewhere doing something when an important match is taking place (only here it's the President meeting a Taiwanese trade delegation) or filling in a World Cup wallchart (although this one's in the Presidential office) or the way fans will try to watch or listen to that vital match any way they can. Even non-rugby fans understand these things. The humour luckily keeps portentousness at bay although some truly awful music occasionally makes it all feel a bit mawkish. Freeman twinkles above the steely core, Damon sensibly underplays and the fun comes from Mandela's put-upon staff, especially the security detail (Jason repeatedly telling people how much he hates rugby, the Afrikaaners trying to remember to smile at the public) The outcome is hardly a surprise but it's all very uplifting and even non-sports fans will smile at the all-encompassing celebration of the final victory.