By contrast, the twenty man American squad was comprised of amateurs and college kids, twelve of whom were from Minnesota. The Yanks were given no chance to get past the Soviets, based on a number of factors, youth and inexperience being two at the forefront. Having the world's best goalie, Vladislav Tretiak, didn't hurt the Red Army team either. A noteworthy component of empirical evidence to support that dire prediction of a mismatch was the 10-2 shellacking the Soviets administered to the US team in an exhibition game three days before the commencement of the Games. Despite the overwhelming odds in the Olympics, the Americans pulled the upset, 4-3, in what has been universally called the "Miracle On Ice."
There have been many movies, books and articles about the Miracle On Ice, including a 1981 film bearing that title. (I remember what head coach Herb Brooks had to say when asked how he and his wife enjoyed the film. Herbie's reply was that his wife was a little disappointed that the producers hadn't chosen an actor more handsome than Karl Malden to play his character.) Almost all of those films and stories focused on the American perspective, such as how the US team was chosen, the grueling preparations, the in-game strategy and how winning the Gold Medal (after defeating Finland two days after the Soviet match) affected their lives. But, what about the Soviet players? Their story had not been documented well at all, at least not for American consumption, until the making of Red Army, a documentary by film maker Gabe Polsky.
It is impossible to separate the Cold War from the world of hockey as it existed at that time in history. The rivalry between Russia and the US went far beyond what could be settled on a sheet of ice. They were decades-long enemies, each with nuclear capabilities. The Russians, including the politicians, looked upon their hockey supremacy as a validation of communism. But before we scoff at such a preposterous notion, Polsky shows Brooks after his squad's Olympics success, pontificating that the Americans' gold medals were proof that our way of life was best.
The Lake Placid showdown is only a small part of Polsky's film, and that is a distinguishing feature separating Red Army from any other movie built around that backdrop. The focal point of the documentary are his interviews with Soviet star defenseman Slava Fetisov, a mainstay of the Red Army team for many years before and after 1980. The pairing of Polsky and Fetisov is, at times, (unintentionally?) hilarious. On camera Fetisov seems like he can't be bothered, or that Polsky is not worth his undivided attention. As he's answering questions, Fetisov is chomping on gum, scanning a computer screen while sitting behind a desk, or conversing on his cell phone. Sometimes he stares at the camera, as if internally debating whether Polsky's question is worthy of an answer. Still, there is something endearing about the Russian. Polsky, who stammers through many of his questions and is not very eloquent, plays along. (If you have ever seen the SNL skit where Chris Farley plays an awestruck reporter who interviews his hero, Paul McCartney, with a series of almost juvenile questions, you might sense deja vu.) To say that this documentary is unpolished would be an understatement. But somehow it works in the end, as we get behind the scenes looks at what life was like for Fetisov and his teammates.
Although the Soviet defeat in Lake Placid was tantamount to a national disaster back in the homeland, in the long run it proved to be merely a blip on the Red Army's resume. The team continued to be astonishingly brilliant for years thereafter. Many of those players would most likely have hit an extraordinary financial jackpot had they been able to play in the West. But of course, they were not free to do so; army desertion is not favorably looked upon! Following the breakup of the Soviet Union in 1991, many of the Red Army stars at last went on to successful careers in the NHL, which at all times remained the highest caliber professional league in the world. Fetisov and four of his Russian teammates (collective sometimes called the "Russian Five") helped the Detroit Red Wings capture the Stanley Cup in 1997 and 1998. Kudos to Wings coach Scotty Bowman, the winningest coach in NHL history, for admitting on camera that he pretty much got out of his stars' way and let them do their thing. The story behind Fetisov bringing the Cup to display at the Kremlin is particularly memorable.
Just like the perpetual, almost dance-like weave of the Russian hockey forwards, Red Army
mixes observations of teamwork, patriotism, capitalism, friendship,
politics and forgiveness into a quick-paced eighty-five minute
documentary. It makes one wonder, with the benefit of hindsight,
whether protracting the Cold War for decades was a very smart thing for
either side to do.
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