But when Clint Eastwood releases a movie about uniting a country through the power of rugby, I have to sit back and go, “Why, Mr. Eastwood, if I can call you that? Should I just call you sir? I mean, you are the Outlaw Josey Wales, after all. Could I call you that? Ooooh, I would love to call you that. Wait, what was my point, Mr. Outlaw Josey Wales Eastwood Sir? Oh, right, it was this: Uniting a country through the power of rugby? I don’t care if it is a true story, what? The? Hell?”
Of course, knowing Mr. Clint Eastwood Sir, if I dared say such things, I would probably be picking my teeth up off the ground later, after I came out of my dehabilitating coma, and then he’d point to the Oscars on his shelf and say, “Why the hell not?”
(He’d say it in that Clint Eastwood tone, and I’d be all like, “You’re so awesome sir!” And he’d be like, “I can’t understand you. You have no teeth.”)
So Invictus tells the story (for some reason, some boring, boring, BORING reason) of Nelson Mandela and some white guy played by (ugh) Matt Damon and his terrible, terrible accent, and rugby! Uniting a nation! Somehow! Like the way football brings Americans everywhere together! (Or starts riots that end in manslaughter charges, whatever.)
Invictus quotes that poem: “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.” And I just now googled that to make sure I got the words right, and it turns out that Invictus is the title of that poem, so now you know where the movie got its title. Or you knew that before, if you were my Brit Lit teacher. Of course, we all know that my Brit Lit teacher isn’t reading my blog, ever since the time I asked him this: “If ‘Yeats’ is pronounced ‘Yates,’ why isn’t ‘Keats’ pronounced ‘Kates’?” It was at that particular moment that he gave up all hope for me making a success of myself. Look who’s laughing now, Mr. Brit Lit Teacher. Look who’s laughing now.
(Actually, I was also the one laughing when I asked the Yeats/Keats question, so I’ve always thought I was hilarious.)
So Invictus the movie is named after Invictus the poem, which isn’t such a bad poem for being written by a 19th century British poet, but not really worth making a movie about.
Oh, right, I forgot. The movie’s about rugby. Because rugby is way more interesting than poetry. And by “way more interesting,” I mean “equally interesting,” and by “interesting,” I mean “dreadfully dull,” and I say that as a published poet.
(I hate poetry. I hate my own poetry. Not enough explosions.)
So, Invictus: both a poem and a movie about rugby.
You have now been educated.
(It’s also the Latin word for “Unconquered.”)