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Trauma and Triumph

We watched Nyad the other day, a fine biopic of long-distance swimmer Diana Nyad who swam an astonishing 110 miles from Cuba to Florida aged 64. The movie showed that no barrier can stop a person with an iron will. But with its strategic narrative use of Nyad’s history of abuse, we were left with a strange taste in the mouth by the end.


Jodie Foster & Annette Bening in Nyad by Netflix
Jodie Foster & Annette Bening in Nyad by Netflix

Diana Nyad’s story is extraordinary. Her 2013 feat of swimming 110 miles from Cuba to Florida without a shark cage at the age of 64 is the kind of triumph that defies belief. It’s the stuff of legend, a testament to human endurance, grit, and the unrelenting power of sheer will. And yet, while Nyad the movie captures the broad strokes of this astonishing tale, it left us hungry for more. The Hollywood glitz disguised some unvarnished, more intriguing truths.

 

We’re not reviewers by any stretch but we make things, so it’s hard to watch a film without wondering about the inner structures that are meant to be hidden from audience members. We experience art and we produce art too. Everything we see is instructive to us in one way or another, and whenever we have a criticism of something, we always try to focus on the elements which, if they’d been honed in on, could have impacted the finished piece.

 

Anchored by strong performances from Annette Bening and Jodie Foster, the film, made by Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai, traces Nyad’s relentless pursuit to complete the lifelong dream she first attempted in the 1970s. It showcases the gruelling physical preparation, the crushing setbacks, and the exhilaration of ultimate victory. But somewhere beneath the surface of this inspiring narrative lies an emotional core that feels oddly underdeveloped, as though the film dips its toes into deeper waters without fully diving in.

The real Diana Nyad
The real Diana Nyad

There is more than a stab at a portrayal of Nyad’s past trauma when, as a young girl, she was sexually abused by Jack Nelson, her predatory coach. The film repeatedly acknowledges this dark chapter, tracing it out in suggestive flashbacks, but plays it more as a convenient narrative device to hit strategic negative plot points than giving such an experience the kind of exploration that might have been due. Moments of athletic struggle are punctuated by flashbacks to this abuse, so that her pain becomes something of a tool to propel the tried-and-tested formulaic arc of triumph over adversity. It’s as though the story requires her to dredge up this trauma at just the right cinematic moment. Whenever she runs out of gas in the water, is attacked by box jellyfish or suffers hallucinations, this ghoul returns and she is forced to plumb the depths of her psyche for a last reservoir of strength.

 

While it’s true that trauma can shape us and plays a significant role in moments of stress, it seems imbalanced for such material to be used as a fleeting plot point. The film glosses over the complexity of Nyad’s relationship with her past, leaving the viewer with the sense that this vital part of her story has been reduced to a narrative shortcut. It’s ambiguous to what degree this experience was a direct driving force in her endeavours, and suggests a strange hierarchical relationship between one struggle and the other, this personal trauma being utilised to frame the development of an athletic feat.

 

From the brief archival footage in the movie and reading only a little about Diana Nyad’s life and achievements, you quickly realise that it’s so remarkable, and she is such a remarkable person, that it doesn’t need embellishment. The raw facts of her swim, the jellyfish stings, the hallucinations, the years of failure and perseverance, are enough to inspire awe. Her story is a celebration of endurance on its own terms, a reminder that striving for excellence is its own reward. Yet this film seems reluctant to trust in the strength of her narrative, leaning instead on the conventions of the Hollywood formula: near-defeat, personal turmoil and eventual redemption.

 

This isn’t to say the movie fails entirely. The ending, bolstered by footage of the real Diana Nyad, does what Hollywood endings do best. It sweeps you up in a wave of emotion. You feel the exhilaration of her triumph, the shared joy of her team, the overwhelming sense of “she did it.” For a moment, the formula works. But as the credits rolled, we found ourselves wanting more. Not more inspiration, but more truth. There were hints at the one-woman show Nyad developed with Josh Ravetch in order to give an immersive experience of her feat to a live audience, during which she deals with the subject matter of her life.

 

The central element of the movie felt both undercooked and repetitive. This was the loving, often spiky relationship between Nyad and her best friend, Bonnie, played here by Jodie Foster, which stood for the many underdeveloped crises that occurred within the wider team.


This element, and the inner conflicts within her team, could have been a more driving factor. Bonnie Stoll played an essential role in Diana Nyad’s historic swim, acting as both coach and unwavering support. A former racquetball champion herself, her understanding of the athletic discipline and mental resilience needed for success were a striking feature of the movie. As Diana’s closest confidante, Bonnie was not just a strategist but a physical presence in the water, swimming alongside the boat and guiding Diana through treacherous conditions, from jellyfish stings to overwhelming fatigue.

 

Diana demanded a lot of the large crew of volunteers who aided her in multiple failed attempts before she finally succeeded. There were small hints here and there of the personal cost to individuals, the stress, the toll on finances and strain on relationships. But somehow it seemed as though this emotional heart of the movie was brushed over with explanatory dialogue. The struggle of one woman to fit into the team structure she needed in order to survive.

 

Stories of trauma and abuse need to be told, but they are not simple. We have to ask ourselves, as creators, how to approach these difficult subjects in such a way that we can do them maximum justice. Nyad’s story needed be told, not because it’s tidy or follows a predictable arc, but because it’s messy and real. It’s a story of resilience, but also of obsession, of aging, of the unique challenges faced by women in sports, and of the complicated intersections of personal ambition and communal effort. These are the threads that could have added depth to the film, lifting it beyond the bounds of conventional biopic storytelling.

 

This is fine storytelling, it’s successful storytelling, but maybe it’s not the only kind of storytelling. Some facts of life are not palatable within the structure of these movies. Certain truths can only be hinted at, can only be shown from suggestive angles, and can only be exploited during the course of a struggle that must inevitably end in triumph. But there is no triumph in trauma. There can be so much triumph around it, and life is not defined by it. But playing with it is playing with fire. Diana Nyad’s life story has been thorny and difficult, and it seems like there’s a much more interesting, far more dangerous film that could be made out of this incredible life.


27.01.25

Opmerkingen


© 2014 by Fragen Theatre Company

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