Of all sports that a person could take up, the one I least understand is wrestling. If I’m gonna get that close to someone, I need to be sexually attracted to them. Otherwise, it’s just a gross person sweating on me. Not my thing. Give me potato sack races over that anytime. One of the good things about this movie though is that if you don’t get wrestling, Steve Carell’s creepy John du Pont comes off as even more disturbing. He’s a poorly socialized, graying Richie Rich, an heir to old money, with a fascination for the sport, a patriotic fervor and major mental problems. It’s based on the true story of du Pont’s self-run wrestling academy and collaboration with Olympic gold medalists Mark Schultz and David Schultz that spiraled downward with du Pont’s sanity and ended in murder. Carell gets the plum role (and probably a tall stack of forthcoming award nominations) as a man who wants to be a leader, but hasn’t the slightest talent for it. The best he can do is flash his money and adopt mannerisms that are failed attempts to project dominance. He’s so awkward that he’s sometimes funny while Carell is careful to not make him likable. You can smell tragedy on the guy from the start. Happiness is in short supply for anyone in this world. It’s a film that broods. Bennett Miller’s stately direction is comfortable with long silences and downer vibes. Channing Tatum’s Mark Schultz is as alienated as du Pont. He spends his days in joyless training and feeling himself being forgotten only three years after winning the Gold. He’s ripe for du Pont’s vision of further American dominance in the Olympics and of the Schultz brothers as inspirational figures. His troubles are just beginning.