When I was at the University of Illinois back in the late 1960s, our dorm housed many of the school's "handicapped" students on the first floor--paraplegics, palsy afflicted, or other medically challenged individuals. They lived somewhat apart from the rest of us, only partially due to privileges like having early lunches and dinners in the cafeteria. Mostly it was “our” fault for being too unfamiliar with these "different" people and being so uncomfortable with their situation that the usual coping mechanism was to either ignore them or make snide comments about the "gimp floor." Oh, some of us were at least aware enough that some of these guys played on our nationally recognized wheelchair basketball team, nicknamed the "Giz Kids" (a play on the 1950's Illini team that was called the Whiz Kids); so we would quickly sidetrack those who poked fun of the "handicapped." I just wish that I had seen a documentary like Murderball back then. Life could have been radically different in old Snyder Hall!

The best thing that Murderball achieves is awareness about quadriplegics. Forget the impressions from mainstream media--most are not like Christopher Reeve! This is self evident from the opening shot (set to heavy metal music) of elaborately tattooed Mark Zupan donning his gym shorts and strapping himself into his gladiator styled wheelchair. These guys are not seeking pity, nor does this film deliberately manipulate the audience to weepy sentiment. This is about athletes in the purest sense--wheelchair rugby athletes who train and compete their asses off from the smallest school gym to the Olympic arena in Athens, Greece.

Competing at the same venue as the regular Summer Olympic Games, paraplegics from across the globe strive for gold medals, encountering the same thrill of victory and agony of defeat that the more publicized regular Olympians experience. By the way, don't ever refer to the Paralympics as the "Special Olympics" because the two events couldn't be more diametrically different. As USA team member Andy Cohn explains, this is a particular pet peeve because ignorant people equate them with "retards." These are guys who have moved on beyond their broken necks and paralyzed limbs to live a full and active life--they don't need award ribbons to give them a sense of worth. The game itself provides that.

The object of the game is to carry a ball across the goaline to score a goal, and the team that has the most points after four periods is the winner. Of course, the main strategy for preventing the opponent from scoring consists of smashing the hell out of the other guy in your $2,500 re-inforced wheelchair, and knocking him helplessly from his chair is even better. Combine the Ben Hur chariot race with ice hockey, and you get the sense of "Murderball" (changed to a more palatable moniker of Quad Rugby to gain acceptance).

While the filming techniques are pretty standard for documentary features, the subject matter is what makes Murderball so riveting. Filmmakers Dana Adam Shapiro and Henry-Alex Rubin compiled raw footage over 2.5 years, which was then synthesized into a number of compelling storylines during the editing process. Some of the narratives had my head spinning--trying to figure out how the filmmakers were able to obtain all their footage.

Especially educational is the case of Keith Cavill, recently injured in a Motocross accident and initially in the early stages of denial, self-pity, and depression. There is nothing his loving family can do to make him feel better about his situation, yet when Zupan visits his hospital with his rugby chair and discusses the sport, you can see Cavill's eyes light up. In seconds he grasps the idea that he can again compete in an extreme sport and his days of depression are behind him. Over the supervising nurse's objections, Cavill tries out Zupan's souped up gladiator wheelchair, and we know that his life has been changed. (A post note benefit of the documentary: one viewer was so moved that he donated a Quad Rugby chair to Cavill)

There is also a revenge story with one-time USA Team great Joe Soares turning against U.S. organizers when he fails to make the cut. He coaches rival Team Canada to beat his former team with a passionate obsession that only Ahab could understand; he also has a son that doesn't want to compete on the athletic field. He's a geek, who plays the viola and gets straight A's in school since nothing less than perfection is acceptable in his dad's eyes--he also competes for his dad's attention, so we have a classic father-son conflict running inside the film.

Most of all, however, the film keeps its focus on exploring the lives of its characters--real people who went through accident, polio, a gunshot, or some mysterious bacterial infection and now must live life sitting down (mostly). No exercise in seeking sympathy, Murderball does achieve remarkable empathy. As Zupan's high school friends reflect that he was an "asshole" before he was injured and his aggressive personality hasn't changed all that much, we realize that they are correct in one sense yet don't know him as well as we do since we also are privy to his more sensitive side.

Younger children often ask the questions that adults are afraid to ask, like the young elementary school journalist who asks quadruple amputee Bob Lujano how he eats a pizza. Lujano not only answers in good humor, but he shows us. Similarly, a couple of them explain how they can still enjoy sex--the visual clips are taken from hospital educational tapes and not especially explicit, but the point is clear. Murderball may not be the most creative documentary that you'll see, but its educational value can not be denied. It's about forty years too late for me to change the way I once viewed my fellow dorm mates on the first floor, but at least I'll not make the same ignorant mistakes in the future. I'll also be checking out the Quad Rugby web site out for the next game in the area.