Hey Everyone …
Here’s this week’s Served podcast.
• Next week we’ll have a Roland Garros tips sheet and seed reports for the 2025 French Open.
• Christopher Clarey’s new Rafael Nadal biography, The Warrior, is out this week. Here’s a Q&A with the author.
• Congrats to Mark Hodgkinson, whose Novak Djokovic biography won International Sports Book of the Year at last week's Sports Book Awards in London.
Onward ...
There were a handful of questions—not a ton, but a handful; telling in itself perhaps—about the Carlos Alcaraz documentary. So let’s start here. The week before last, My Way came out on Netflix and … it has not drawn generally stellar reviews. So much so that Alcaraz was asked about it last week as his first question in Rome.
I think the issue here is simple. And it is definitional. We think of documentaries as the works of Alex Gibney, Michael Moore and Errol Morris … essentially nonfiction works of independent journalism, presented in an arced 100-or-so-minute form. Issues investigated. Truths uncovered. Hypocrisies laid bare. Prominent figures probed and pushed and explored. (Intended as full disclosure, not cringy self-promotion: I am an executive producer on Untold: The Fall of Brett Favre coming out on Netflix next week.)
So many modern documentaries—while still filed under the same heading—are often something else. They are branding exercises, the modern version of the “as told to” book, for which the subjects are paid, and, more critically, are given editorial control.
A digression. Remember The Last Dance? Of course you do. It sustained us during the COVID-19 lockdown and was the rare recent sports doc that spilled over into culture at large. It was directed, skillfully, by Jason Hehir, now hard at work bringing Novak Djokovic’s story to the form. Anyway, for The Last Dance, Michael Jordan held “final say” rights. But I’ve been told he did not exercise them. That is, he never said, We need to cut this chunk, as I look like a hypercompetitive maniac whose perceived slight by someone who meant me no harm motivated me in the extreme. No, Jordan was remarkably, admirably hands-off. And I would submit this warts-and-all portrayal not only undergirded the film’s success but, ultimately, made Jordan look better and fuller and more compelling than any balloons-and-rainbows hagiographic infomercial, bereft of any tension.
Anyway, back to Alcaraz, I'm not sure what he and his camp demanded be cut or not allowed to be filmed. But there is a conspicuous lack of real conflict, the basis for any story worth telling. Yes, he is wrestling with the age-old athlete conundrum: full dedication to being the best versus, I’m rich and fun and single in my early 20s and coursing with testosterone and enjoying visiting Ibiza. And, yes, there is the specter of the Big Three— Nadal in particular—which positions Alcaraz, perhaps unfairly, as not just an exquisite player but the sport’s savior who must launch at a time when 20-plus majors is the recent standard. But overall, this “doc” felt like a lot of wallpaper without much furniture. Inside access is great, but what are you accessing once inside?
Then there is another problem with the current documentary form and format. The buyers—the streamers in particular—want the biggest names and celebrities with the most currency. But almost by definition, that means: A) These people are in their meaty primes, and have concerns more pressing than devoting time and thought to self-exploration. You’re not going to go deep with a filmmaker when you have a big match the next day. You’re not going to reveal your doubts and weaknesses when you are an active athlete and opponents could exploit this.
B) These subjects are young and active and incapable of the kind of reflection and detached perspective that make the best documentaries sing. (See: The Last Dance and Beckham, and this is why I have such high hopes for Andre Agassi.)
C) I’ll add a third point. Injuries are a central part of sports—a pursuit predicated on the human body allowing for peak performance. But injuries don’t make for riveting content. There are only so many scenes of rehab we can tolerate; only so many earnest, but numbingly familiar, discussions among team members, should I push my body and risk the future, or should I play it safe and risk regret? As an audience, we want the binaries that make sports, sports: glorious victory and/or devastating defeat. Not, In the third set I could feel my hamstring get tight and I will seek treatment and hope it’s not going to cause me to miss Shanghai, but we’ll see what the scans say.
All of which is to say, if you share the belief of many that this was an underwhelming project, don’t blame Alcaraz, blame the form. Alcaraz played his role fine. He offered a (curated) glimpse into his life, he allowed the viewer (limited, generally anodyne) access to folks in his orbit, not least his thoroughly pleasant mother. He came across as likable, talented, fun-loving and benign. (He also cashed a considerable check for this endeavor.)
The good news: You get multiple bites of this apple. When it’s 2045 and we get Alcaraz—grey in the temple, wise, ensconced in Marbella and not Ibiza—going deep on his career, reflecting on his triumphs and missteps, pondering the meaning of it all … now that’s a documentary.
• What’s going on with Iga Świątek was another hot topic this week. Świątek lost another early round match to a lower-ranked opponent—this one in Rome to Danielle Collins. This came on the heels of a 6–1, 6–1 defeat to Coco Gauff the previous week—and suddenly the three-time defending Roland Garros champion will arrive as the fourth seed, a player without a tournament win (not even a final for that matter) since last year’s Roland Garros.
Phrased as delicately as possible, this is a player in distress. The results are a symptom not a source. Stress is welded on her face when she plays. Her anxiety is apparent in her social media posts and conceded in interviews. There have been uncharacteristic acts of pique. This is plain to all observers, including her opponents, who have come to realize this is not the same player (and person) who was running roughshod over the field, fearless under pressure, as she’s been for much of the past three years.
There were some troubling signs last season. Clear discomfort and awkwardness within the camp. A general joylessness. (Once her trademark, when was the last time there was a lighthearted discussion about the books she was reading or a cheat meal she enjoyed?)
Then came the doping situation. While reasonable people—which is to say most everyone—quickly realized there was no wrongdoing and the incident said everything about the unyielding process and nothing about Świątek’s personal ethics, it’s clear this has been deeply disruptive. Correlation doesn’t equal causation, but she’s simply been a different player since this ordeal began.
If you’re in her camp, A) you preach joy. Life is good. Careers don’t move in straight lines. Go back and look at Djokovic’s 2017. We’re going to be okay here. B) Preach long-term history, not recent history. Sure, this year has not gone as planned. But you’re going to an event you’ve won four of the past five years. You are the queen here. Don’t forget that.
Hi Jon,
Thanks for posting my comment! A quick follow-up (no need to post) regarding "he could just finagle a way to add some 250s to his schedule"—anticipated you would say this and three points:
1. Djokovic has already done this to some extent by adding Brisbane to his schedule earlier in the year (and Doha).
2. I guess he is not doing more of it due to pride and dreams of riding out in one last blaze of glory.
3. But he should do more of it—he already has the most majors and masters, so nothing to prove there and nothing wrong with checking off one more milestone by going after 250s. After all, even the great Art Donaldson had to resort to, um, Challengers in his waning days.
AM
• Bonus points for the Art Donaldson reference. And ironically, the day after we discussed this, Djokovic announced he was playing Geneva again, a 250 on the eve of Roland Garros.
If, in fact, Djokovic can win a 100th title or surmount Roger Federer, I suspect he puts it in the that’s-kinda-cool category. It beats a kick in the stomach. But is a round number*—achieved, likely, by beating players ranked outside the top 50 to win a small event—what is truly stoking his fire these days? I don’t see it.
*One paragraph digression: So often in life we try to avoid round numbers. The 99-cent store is more appealing than an even dollar. How often do we see homes selling at $999,000, lest the list price cross the $1 million threshold. In sports it’s the opposite. We love round numbers. A .300 hitter gets a fat contract; a .299 hitter does not. A player who rushes for 2,000 yards is feted in a way that a 1,999-yard rusher (36 inches less real estate!) is not. And 99 titles encompassing 24 majors over two decades is somehow viewed differently from 100 titles.
During the UFC broadcast (Bukauskas v Cutelaba), Daniel Cormier just said, “Alexander Volkanovski says, ‘Pressure is a privilege.’” BJK might like a word.
William T.
• We could use this misattribution in the next Old Man Volk sketch! Speaking of TKO and tennis overlap, who else caught Hulk Hogan—in a tennis Freudian slip—referring to a colleague as “Benjamin Shelton” ?
Believe it or not, the Italian Open isn't the only big story from Rome in recent days. Pope Leo XIV is a White Sox fan, which proves that he does care about the downtrodden. But he also loves to play tennis! Can you try to get a scoop on his favorite shots to hit, if he has any favorite players, and whether he's willing to excommunicate fans who let their phones ring during a match?
Daniel Rabbitt
Morrisville, NC
• Habemus Tennis Player!
HAVE A GOOD WEEK, EVERYONE.
This article was originally published on www.si.com as Tennis Mailbag: What the Carlos Alcaraz Documentary Reveals About the Form.