Sly
NETFLIX
The irony of Sly – and what has followed the titular subject throughout his success – is the comparisons to Arnold Schwarzenegger; even now, there’s is a sense of irony with the similarly titled and recently released Arnold documentary on the same platform (NETFLIX). The two actors and performers, in terms of stature and success, that are not far from each other, but one clear element is evident in the release of both documentaries: Arnold is a three hour anthology splitting his life into the careers he took upon himself and Sly is one 97-minute outing.
To say it comes up short on a life full of intrigue and engagement is an understatement, and the biggest resulting issue is that Sly can’t find a common ground to follow. It constantly jumps from one aspect to another: family dynamics, box office success, growing old. While the intention is that such a larger-than-life character would have so much material to cover, why then approach it with a minuscule running time that it has to work against? It makes very little sense in terms of this cinematic giant that it would reduce itself in such a manner. The ramifications are sadly ever so rampant with the final result: a scattershot approach that doesn’t identify or educate the audience.
Sly does touch upon private moments, such as early family dynamics and the waining issues or morality. Nevertheless, it is what this feature does not say that is most intriguing. While Arnold had the gall to discuss issues of inappropriate sexual behaviour or internal family issues that broke down marriages and relationships, audiences would think Stallone was and is a saint. No discussions on his troubled relationship with Bridgette Nielsen, his egotistical entourage that almost ruined his career and a bleached out approach to sexual assault allegations. To say it frankly, Sly is a documentary that is sanitised above and beyond, to state the obvious, and does not endeavor to investigate the unknown. By its own definition, it does not work to truly seek who its subject is, but allows the subject to dictate the narrative.
The only real amount of emotional connection Sly will allow to be unravelled his is relationship with his father, which is quite interesting to see play out, but only from the perspective of Sly who is the victim. It is the only attracting aspect of production that has any form of emotional result and engagement with the material. Very little else has a sense of vulnerability to it nor a sense of newfound information. At least the framing of who the documentary unravels is a poetic form of irony, with Stallone narrating and telling the audience old stories while his house is being sold and items stored away; it does add a strange moral quality to proceedings, but it is as little as it sounds.
Ultimately, Sly is massive disappointment, not only in terms of depth showcased from its subject but a tragedy in that for a person who has affected audiences and fans for years, who is in his final act, to say so little is a major crumbling block. Sadly, it has to be compared to the far superior and honest Arnold, which feels a lot more earnest in bringing out the skeletons and at three hours is able to to discuss the beast frankly and to the point. Sly, in the other hand, feels almost whimsical at its 97-minutes.
