The following year, Dr. Rodchenkov’s lab came under fire, and its accreditation was suspended by the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA). The lab was forced to shut down and Grigory to resign. Fogel, realizing the much greater story unfolding in real time, skillfully shifts the film’s focus from smuggling urine into Russia to extracting Grigory out of the country safely. Having fled his native Russia, leaving his wife and children behind, the former track and field athlete finds himself on the run once more. He hides out at Bryan’s California beach house, receives a federal grand jury subpoena, and blows the whistle on years of state-sponsored doping in an exclusive interview with The New York Times. Amid scandal and perhaps treason, Grigory has transformed from affable cheat to Russia’s Edward Snowden, having somewhat ironically fled the country from which Snowden was granted asylum.

During shockingly candid interviews with Bryan, Grigory delves into details of his means and methodology for successfully avoiding detection during the Sochi Olympics, a winter games for which Russian athletes were awarded a record-high 13 gold medals. During this time obtaining positive results for Russia meant any and all tested samples came back negative. Bryan also secures interviews with investigators within WADA and the International Olympic Committee (IOC) responsible for looking into and penalizing Russia for said scandal.

Set against the backdrop of George Orwell’s 1984, a favorite of Grigory’s that was banned and burned under Stalin, the film employs effective use of doublethink. In the beginning, Grigory is a co-conspirator perpetrating deceit on a global scale. He has always been complicit in state-sponsored doping as head of the lab. However, through the lens of context and circumstance, Grigory is reimagined as a heroic whistleblower. He has always been plagued by guilt and wants expose the criminal conspiracy. By playing with the dystopian plot of 1984, Bryan challenges and reverses the viewer’s own understanding of truth versus fact, especially when it comes to Grigory’s complicity in this criminal conspiracy. And just like that, what we thought of Grigory is called into question. As we see him grappling with the sudden and mysterious death of a dear colleague, we (along with him) are forced to reckon with the full scale of what he has done and the imminent danger he is in.

Like the novel, Icarus — nominated for Documentary Feature at next month’s Academy Awards and now streaming on Netflix — makes the distinction between truth (the actual issues and circumstances of an event) and fact (what are believed to be the issues and circumstances of an event) and then explores the social-political-ethical-moral nuances of the manipulation of facts in order to control individuals and societies for political gain. In archival footage, Putin weaponizes “doublethink” as he advocates for justice independent from politics, his every word eerily resounding like an indication of and misdirection from the 2016 election meddling to come.

During one talking head, former WADA president Dick Pound questions, “Why would I watch an event that’s fixed?” In a way, Fogel sees this as a directive, a challenge. Traditionally, documentary is a fixed event. The information is already out in the world, existing for all to know. Despite these constraints or perhaps because of them, Fogel crafts a suspenseful thriller from this presently occurring and prescient scandal. By filming contemporaneously and following each twist and turn in the story, Fogel proves that people don’t watch for displays of excellence or meritocratic victories. We tune in for the drama.

Speaking of which, the film’s title, Icarus, is one of dramatic irony. Mixed metaphors aside, if Grigory is not Orwell’s Winston, then the Russian Federation is certainly not Icarus. All evidence (and Grigory’s testimony) pointed to a longtime conspiracy of state-sponsored cheating. WADA confirmed such findings in its investigation, only to have the Olympic Committee ignore its retaliatory recommendations, and allow Russian athletes the opportunity to compete in Rio. The Russians did not tragically suffer failure at the hands of hubris. They got away with it. While poor Icarus, having ignored his father’s prognostications, flew too close to the sun and died of his own over-ambition. With his excellent and ambitious documentary, Fogel narrowly avoids the sun and such a fate.

Gillespie (“Fright Night”) invites viewers, via a mockumentary-style format, to delve into the cockeyed events that led to the insanity that was the “police baton smash on the knee heard around the world” that was committed against Harding’s fiercest rival Nancy Kerrigan. Skillfully, Gillespie and screenwriter Steven Rogers’ (“Love the Coopers”) arousing approach to retelling this incident that gave an entertaining appeal to Kerrigan’s “Beauty” and Hardin’s perceived “Beast” is rather brilliant in its corrosive campiness.

However, I, Tonya does not give the audience the definitive answers to all the questions surrounding the Kerrigan attack that was carried out so awkwardly in January 1994 at a Detroit ice arena by Tonya’s ex-husband Jeff Gillooly (played convincingly by Sebastian Stan, “Captain America: Civil War”). Left open is whether Gillooly and his moronic misfit helpers acted alone in the plan to take out Kerrigan to benefit his ex-wife’s chances at the Olympic Games or if Tonya Harding (Margot Robbie, “Suicide Squad”) had known all along what transpired and was complicit in this botched scheme to cripple Kerrigan. Invitingly, I, Tonya turns these scandalous proceedings into a fun-loving, trashy-themed train-wreck of deplorable dunces turning on each other and offering their unsavory take of their heinous actions.

As a dark comedy, the film details the struggled upbringing of a young Harding — a vulnerable girl with an elusive auto mechanic father and harsh/hardened low-paid waitress mother LaVona Golden (masterfully portrayed by Allison Janney, “The Girl on the Train”). Despite being sickly, poor and neglected in the middle of nowhere Portland, Oregon, young Tonya’s interest in taking skating lessons would cultivate into something spectacular — her eventual glory as U.S. champion figure skater and World Champion silver medal winner. No one could think that the desperate and disillusioned Tonya Harding would qualify for the Winter Olympics in 1992 (Albertville, France) and 1994 (Lillehammer, Norway). Nor could they see that she would become the first American woman to successfully execute the Triple Axel move in international competition. It is not easy to overcome parental abuse at the hands of a diabolical and demanding mother or spousal abuse by a gun-wielding, unstable husband. Nevertheless, give credit where credit is due as Harding’s perseverance prevailed in spite of the personalized demons of her past.

Robbie channels the defiant skating scapegoat with a notable pugnacious spark that resonates with blustery candidness. She is the willing villainess who enthusiastically picks apart through criticism as she claims her innocence in the name of unfairness and getting a bad rap based on the wrongdoing of others. Still, Robbie’s tawdry take as Harding manages to invoke sympathy on the one-time Olympic standout thus forcing the audience to question their skepticism about her, even if only for a moment. As the “Mommy Dearest” element in the movie, Janney’s equally tortured performance as the despicable and critical LaVona, a woman looking to achieve a sense of justification through her daughter’s infamy, is delightfully realized in devilish fashion. Janney’s fiendish and opportunist take as the overbearing, potty-mouthed version of June Cleaver is (by my standards) actually good enough to be considered for a best supporting actress Oscar-nod.

The same goes for Stan’s stunning portrayal of the maligned Jeff Gillooly — a miserable miscreant of a man that one simply cannot take their eyes off. Additionally, Paul Walter Hauser’s (“Kingdom” TV series) over-sized, oafish bodyguard wannabe Shawn Eckhardt is comically winning as the bumbling sidekick to Stan’s thin, no-nonsense Gillooly. The minor oversight in the film may be Caitlin Carver’s (“Rules Don’t Apply”) seemingly invisible turn as the victimized Nancy Kerrigan because she seems rather incidental to the storyline. But hey . . . this is a platform for Tonya Harding, so I suppose elaborating on Kerrigan’s dilemma would undermine the genuine base of Harding’s meaty profile . . .

Tonya Harding, the down-and-out, tabloid tart may not have been a suitable ice darling for Olympic judges, but I, Tonya earns critical respect for its shrewd commentary on the instant gratification of tabloid television/sleazy journalism (led by a creep reporter played by Bobby Cannavale, “Danny Collins”) and the ugly business of high-stakes competition. It makes for a jolting, well-versed satire of sorts, although its true roots remain steadfast in the puzzling rise and self-destruction of Harding’s manufactured celebrity.

The brain trust behind the strained The Bronze is the film’s star/co-writer Melissa Rauch (from TV’s long-running “The Big Bang Theory”) and her fellow scriber and husband Winston Rauch. In theory The Bronze had the potential to riff marvelously on the trappings of fleeting celebrity while adding some biting commentary about the jingoistic sensationalism of American competition. Sure, there are a few amusing moments in The Bronze worthy of a few chuckles here and there. For the most part, however, the movie feels uncharacteristically stiff and never delivers the hearty cynical laughs it strives for so clumsily. Instead, the film’s demanding has-been hussy and her endless self-absorbed and self-entitled sense of importance registers as distant and wooden.

Yesteryear’s gymnast darling Hope Ann Greggory (Rauch) was the petite powerhouse that captured the nation’s undivided attention after winning the bronze medal while competing on a fatal Achilles tendon. Hope was, quite simply, the toast of the town in the 2004 Olympic Games. One would say she was America’s sweetheart and the spirit of the country’s “never say die” mentality. Unfortunately for the celebrated young woman, her foot injury ended her continued Olympian career. Now twelve years later Hope basks in obscurity in small town Amherst, Ohio where she is no longer treated like a sporting queen nationwide with the few exceptions of seldom local notoriety.

Noticeably the acid-tongued Hope still holds on to her newsworthy nostalgia highlighting her cherished heyday of constant praise and pride. She has become tyrannical in mood and madness with demanding temper tantrums and pushiness. Hope has become relentlessly obnoxious and her unbearable tendencies run deep. She refuses to let go of yesterday’s stardom and will do everything it takes to maintain her waning worthiness in the public eye. In fact, Hope still shamelessly wears her Olympian Team USA warm-up suit with her bronze medal draped around her neck.  Additionally, she craves special attention and expects free things offered to her. Hope’s sheer pettiness is only matched by her need to stay relevant.

Besides being holed up in her bedroom full of her Olympic achievements as she watches old tapes of her past gymnastic performances, Hope really does not do much with her pathetic existence although she manages to frequent the mall and have free food served to her from a pizza shop willing to cater to her bratty whims. Her brow-beaten, mail-carrier father Stan (Gary Cole, “Tammy”) daringly suggests that her daughter do something with her talents such as going into coaching. However, the spoiled Hope reminds her Daddy Dearest that she is a star and not a coach relegated to the background of grooming another star-in-the-making.

Hope’s enabling dad is not the only thorn in her side as others have been subjected to her ire as well. Former teammate Lance Tucker (Sebastian Stan, “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”) effectively gets under her skin with his brand of pomposity. When Olympic teen hopeful Maggie Townsend (Haley Lu Richardson, “The Young Kieslowski”) arrives on the scene and shows some excitable enthusiasm as she threatens to become the newest Olympian heroine this does not sit will with the raging Hope. This gets further complicated because the youngish Maggie actually idolizes the nasty-minded Hope. Eventually (and predictably) Hope agrees to mentor the giddy Maggie as she is assuming the present-day role of America’s fresh-faced high-flying honeybun. Gone are the days of the desperate Hope stealing money and perusing through undelivered mail in daddy Stan’s parked postal truck. Reluctantly, Hope trains the chronically cheery Maggie with an arm’s distance length method of feeling. Soon, Hope realizes the therapeutic measures in learning to revolve and give back some of her competitive wisdom to her talented charge.

The Bronze is proud of its naughty impishness as it does tap into some slight subversive themes especially when Rauch’s Hope is let loose with her random bitchiness. Still, the movie is not consistent with its snickering mean streak and decides to unsteadily morph into a rudimentary redemptive fable. Hope Ann Greggory had spent the better half of the film demonstrating her blustery personality and causing plastic plants to wilt in her incorrigible presence. So now softening Hope in a connect-the-dots conclusion usurps the purpose of the narrative’s aimless scathing barbs. The edginess of Rauch’s Hope character was mildly amusing but never really grounded in grand-standing outlandishness to the point of relatable cynicism. The heartwarming vibes simply gives this synthetic romp an uneven balance that the nimble Hope Ann Greggory cannot recover from on her talented toes.

The Bronze also wallows in its share of in-house gymnastic sex gags, waif-like flexible females parading around for whispering titillation effect and the usual juvenile references to body parts. The Rauches’ spotty script is stretched thin and the hit-and-miss nature of Melissa Rauch’s Olympian bad-mouth Barbie doll is met with mixed results. Somehow Rauch’s hardcore harlot gets lost in the shuffle regarding her questionable acerbic comic timing and that spells disaster for an indie dramedy that relies on its devilish wittiness. Even real-life gymnastic greats such as Dominique Dawes and Olga Korbut are merely tossed in as a minor salute to the film’s Olympic-laced background.

Grating and repetitive, The Bronze manages to curiously finish fourth in a two-man contest . . . much to the dismay of caustic cutie Hope Ann Greggory.

According to his website, Owens specialized in the sprints and the long jump and was recognized in his lifetime as perhaps the greatest and most famous athlete in track and field history. His achievement of setting three world records and tying another in less than an hour at the 1935 Big Ten track meet in Ann Arbor, Michigan, has been called “the greatest 45 minutes ever in sport” and has never been equaled.

At the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin, Owens won international fame with four gold medals: The 100 meters, 200 meters, long jump, and 4 × 100 meter relay. He was the most successful athlete at the games and as such has been credited with single-handedly crushing Hitler’s myth of Aryan supremacy (although the host country won the most medals in the Games, 89 to 56 over the second-place United States, including 33 gold).

In telling the account, Race has several storylines running parallel to each other. The first and obviously most compelling concerns the rise of James Cleveland “Jesse” Owens (Stephan James, “Selma”), who overcomes poverty and racial prejudice to become one of the American representatives to the XI Olympiad and ultimately one of the greatest and most famous athletes in track and field history.

Another involves a disagreement about whether there should be an American boycott of the Olympics because of the situation in Germany at the time, especially the plight of its Jewish citizens. President of the American Olympic Committee (AOC), Avery Brundage (Jeremy Irons, Academy Award winner for “Reversal of Fortune”), opposed this course of action believing politics should remain out of sports. President of the Amateur Athletic Union (AAU), Jeremiah Mahoney (William Hurt, Academy Award winner for “Kiss of the Spider Woman”), thought otherwise, arguing participation would lead to an endorsement of Hitler.

Tacked in is a thread with German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl (Carice van Houten, “Repo Men”) who — under the watch of a calloused Joseph Goebbels (Barnaby Metschurat, a bunch of German TV series no one stateside has heard of) — attempts to make the propaganda documentary “Olympia,” chronicling the Games in Germany and Owens’ participation.

Like all sports films, we get the usual rags-to-riches montage with Owens leading his college team (led by his coach, played by “Saturday Night Live” alum Jason Sudeikis, “Tumbledown”) to triumph in 1935 and earning a spot on the Olympic squad, despite calls from his own people to boycott the Games. And while the athletic competition scenes are fairly compelling, the behind the scenes moments were most interesting to this scribbler.

The title, Race, is an obvious double entendre, and when casting an eye on the non-track and field meaning it is quick to point out how poorly people of color were treated in America during this period in time (surprisingly similar to Germany, and in some ways worse). In one particularly poignant scene, akin to Hattie McDaniel winning the Best Supporting Actress award for “Gone With the Wind” and having to sit at the back table at the ceremony, Owens, as the celebrated guest of honor at a Manhattan banquet is forced to use the hotel’s kitchen entrance in the rear.

While Sudeikis does well in comic relief (although he does get to test his dramatic chops now and again), James has a much tougher time. Like Chadwick Boseman in “42,” he has to play a man whom we have not only idolized, but iconicized through the years. There isn’t much room here, but he does the best with what he has. And even though Race doesn’t necessarily inspire us or show us anything new, it’s one that the younger people should see — just to get a little historical background of a person who actually existed in a world much different from our own.

This rare sports/comedy/drama matches the charm of its influence by focusing on the perseverance and humorous undertone of “The Eagle.” Director Dexter Fletcher (“Wild Bill”) does a tremendous job of balancing the three tones of the film, by carefully detailing each stage of Edward’s life, leading up to him representing his country in the 1988 Winter Olympics ski jumping competition.

Beginning at the childhood of Eddie’s life we are introduced to an exuberant kid with aspirations of being in the Olympics, (despite having an unexplained leg brace). So aspiring, that he leaves his home in the dead of the night to travel to the Olympics to the dismay of his parents. His unbridled enthusiasm as a child instantly wins over the hearts of the audience, creating a unique underdog personality.

After getting rid of his temporary handicap, we are treated to an upbeat training montage of Eddie simulating Olympic sports in his backyard. From weightlifting to javelin throw, Edwards fails at each and every sport, which timely introduces the audience to the films comedic tone.

As Eddie grows into his young adult self, (played by “Kingsman: The Secret Service” star Taron Egerton) his talent doesn’t seem to catch up with is growth. He soon concedes to his failures, gives up on his Olympic aspirations and joins his father in his plastering business (a position that is clearly unnatural for Eddie but is sensible to his conservative father).

Luckily for Eddie, he has a supportive mother who challenges him to keep striving for his goals. So after a very short stint of working with his father, Eddie comes up with another far-fetched idea. He decides that since he cannot participate in the “regular” Olympics, he will attempt to join the Winter Olympics as a ski jumper, as he was already an established skier.

Without hesitation Eddie makes a drastic choice to immediately move out of town near a ski resort to begin training on his own. He steals his fathers van and travels hours away on a hunch that if he challenges himself, he can realize his goal.

But if only it were so easy. Lack of discernible talent is one obstacle, but what underdog story is complete without clichéd rivals and naysayers? Eddie the Eagle provides many for Eddie to face off against, but what’s surprising is not only did most his family and all his peers and competing ski jumpers doubt him, he was actually doubted by his country’s Olympic committee.

The committee, actually, constantly blocked Edwards from participating, even when he was just as qualified as everyone around him. Sure, his style was unconventional and he was quite clumsy, but he did not deserve the dismissive treatment he received. He was for all purposes pure-hearted — he never had any ulterior motives — all he wanted to do was participate.

To finally make that happen, Edwards seeks out an experienced skier to give him confidence and intangible skills to send him to the next level. Unfortunately, that’s not what he finds; instead he gets former skier and current alcoholic Bronson Peary (Hugh Jackman, “Pan”). Peary, to his credit however, was a winning ski jumper for the United States Olympic team and was even trained by well-regarded ski jumping coach Warren Sharp (Christopher Walken, “Jersey Boys”). It doesn’t take long for Peary to see a passion in Edwards that he didn’t have at his age. This spawns a mentor/protégé relationship that reels the audience in and forms an emotional bond. Jackman and Egerton should be praised for their impressionable chemistry on screen, which seemed almost effortless.

After a strenuous amount of training — along with an almost absurd amount of adversity — Edwards finds himself as the sole representative of his country in the 1988 Winter Olympics. He begins to become a worldwide rags to riches story; fans love his relatable, casual personality. To his displeasure though, his introduction to fame doesn’t bring with it recognition from his peers. He is further shunned by them, and now, even loses some of the support of his mentor.

Yet again, instead of becoming comfortable with his new-found fame or calling it quits, Edwards sees this as a competitive sign. He intends to earn his position even if it kills him and so without anyone’s instruction to do so, he enlists to participate in the hardest competition that the Olympic ski jumping sport has to offer: The 90 meter jump.

This extremely difficult task has only been attempted by the best skiers the world has ever seen, let alone completed. At this point Edwards has already attained injuries for jumps that were half as difficult as this one. None of this stops Eddie — he has this inner motivation that is so greatly displayed by Egerton, that you almost feel as though you’re watching this event happen in real-time and rooting for him will somehow bring him success.

Without giving away the ending of the film, I can say that Eddie the Eagle pulls a familiar, uplifting emotion out of the audience that hasn’t been this uniquely displayed in some time. Fletcher’s directing style took advantage of the film’s visually compelling moments, the ski jumps were beautifully filmed and edited. He also does a great job of making the film’s pacing seamless, each stage being completed in the perfect amount of time to progress the story. The cast is experienced, the plot is solid and overall, not only will you enjoy this film, you’ll remember it. And most importantly you’ll remember Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards.

Steve Carell (“Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”) plays du Pont, the eccentric head of the eponymous world’s largest chemical company. du Pont is a self-described amateur-wrestling enthusiast, and following the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles, he summons USA gold medal winner Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum, “22 Jump Street”) to his palatial Pennsylvania home. His purpose is to convince Schultz to help him train, on site, a new squad of amateurs so that they can bring home the gold for the USA in Seoul, South Korea in 1988.

Mark Schultz has forever been in the shadow of his revered older brother David (Mark Ruffalo, “Now You See Me”), a fellow Olympian, and sees du Pont’s offer as a chance to do something on his own. Meanwhile, David remains home with his wife and kids, unwilling to uproot his family to help Mark and John train the new team.

Tatum does a fine job as Mark Schultz, an insecure and slightly envious young man whose medal has earned him the occasional check for speaking to grammar-school kids and little else. It seems everyone’s more excited about the successful, charismatic David, relegating Mark to the shadows. But Tatum isn’t given nearly enough to do, and there are some logical inconsistencies with his character. Mark Schultz spends almost half of the movie angry with John du Pont over a slight (a slight slight, as it were), and although his anger isn’t misplaced, it certainly feels overdone. Schultz comes off more like a petulant child than a grown up.

Steve Carell, as du Pont, is unintentionally hilarious. Carell almost literally sleepwalks through the role, with du Pont’s eyes half closed most of the time, and he mumbles in a shaky timbre. It’s clear there’s something wrong with du Pont (the mood swings are a none-too-subtle hint). It is not clear, until the final five minutes or so of the movie, just how wrong in the head the billionaire really is. That is, Carell spends 90% of Foxcatcher acting a little strange and then goes completely off the rails in the remaining 10%. It’s an abrupt change in tone that simply doesn’t make sense, since there is little to indicate the depth of his madness. Carell’s makeup is also of some interest; he seems to be wearing a few layers of pancake makeup along with a prosthetic nose, presumably to match what the real John du Pont looked like. The trouble is, most viewers probably don’t know what the chemical magnate looked like, so the effort to make Carell match du Pont is wasted. Worse, the whole get-up looks like a costume — unnatural and unnecessary.

This doesn’t seem like it would be a funny film. In fact, even if one has just a bare-bones knowledge of the plot, one would conclude that this is a dark drama. And yet there was laughter from the audience in the preview screening I attended, laughter stemming from dialogue that people thought was supposed to be funny or from the absurd, bordering on caricature, delivery from Carell. Every unintended laugh felt awkward, even cringeworthy.

Clocking at 134 minutes, Foxcatcher features approximately 124 minutes of slow-moving trains and about ten minutes of those trains suddenly crashing into each other at high speed. There’s a lot of buildup, but the ending comes so far out of left field that it’s beyond the bleachers, across the street, and halfway up the alleyway.