How Clint Eastwood made my day

December 24th was a bit of a bust for me. A meeting about the cookbook left me irritated and frustrated and a tad emotional. I left it to rush over to Nazareth House hospice, to see one of the cleaners there, who I counsel.

The hospice was silent but full of people. Wrapped in blankets against the chill of their disease. On a 27degree, windless day, Summer day. The session was sad and harrowing and knocked me no little. I cried my way home. I was really angry with myself. What the fuck was wrong with me, getting all up in my ego about a cookbook? I was due to join my brother Mark and our friend Jen for a movie. But now I really didn't feel up to it. So I moped around at home for a while - beating myself up about how shallow I was. Then it occurred to me that I was just doing more of the same. So I pulled myself towards myself and Cavendish.

I missed the importance of the ‘95 Rugby World Cup to South Africa. Partly because I’ve never been a major sports fan. And partly because late June is peak touring season in Europe and I would have been on the road somewhere working. Yet, for two hours on this Christmas Eve – I became totally engrossed in Clint Eastwood’s take on John’s Carlin’s book “Playing the Enemy”.

I’d read all the criticism: Matt Damon has the emotive range of a salamander (he is playing a rugy player, besides - oh, who cares, have you seen the man?), Morgan Freeman’s accent is patchy (heard much Xhosa in the US, then?), the rugby was ’staged’ (no shit, really?). So I wasn’t expecting much. But I loved every moment. Invictus was the antidote to my day. It is about hope and determination. About possibility. It is about putting something else before your ego. And it made me smile, and cry, and be awed, again, by Nelson Mandela's mind.

I met him once, at SA house in London late April 2001. R.E.M. were playing the Freedom Day Concert in Trafalgar Square and I was co-ordinating the media. Madiba sent word to the soundcheck that he wanted to meet everyone involved in the show. We trooped upstairs to a room in the Embassy – and in he came. Moving from person to person: shaking hands and thanking each for their time. When he got to me, I got all choked up and could hardly talk. Michael had to tell him my name. He stood there until I composed myself, then asked:

“How long have you been away?” ”16 years, Madiba.”

“16 years? That’s long enough – its time to take what you have learned and go back. We will need you.”

I just nodded and he squeezed my hand: ”I’ll see you back at home”. And he was gone.

And here I am – back in Cape Town; Madiba's not a bad guy to take career advice from.

I think Matt did a great job as Francois Pienaar – a decent man who understood what his President was trying to achieve. Morgan’s accent and mannerisms were spot on. And Clint really got the importance of rugby to this country, and the politics that go with it. So, ignore the hairsplitters, the movie is a must see. Watch it with your heart.

PS: The name of the movie comes from a poem that helped keep Madiba strong while he was in prison. It’s worth a read – I’ve take the liberty of printing it below.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Earnest Henley

(note: Portions of this blog appear on SA-People.com)