Attempting to explain Being John Malkovich — like attempting to explain this year’s NBA playoffs — would be a farce. Anything resembling a plot summary would be a disservice to one of the strangest movies you’ll ever see. It’s dark — at times, positively horrific. Its most hilarious moments are some of its most twisted, and the most poignant would be downright silly in any other context. It’s constantly shifting, forcing the audience to keep up with right and wrong and every intersection between. It’s about portals and puppetry. It’s about learning who you are through someone else’s perspective. It’s about suspending everything you know about anything for 72 minutes and allowing yourself to embrace the absurdity of a reality far removed from your own — and coming away affected all the same.
Because let’s face it. We didn’t expect the Dallas Mavericks to make it this far. The unbearable monotony of the past three seasons only solidified our perception of the team’s stagnation. How were we to know that this team would be decimating its opponents with an unparalleled veteran savvy on both ends of the floor? We were never afforded the possibility. We applauded the introduction of Tyson Chandler, a defensive fulcrum, and the often beautiful offensive movement. But we are also creatures of habit, writing off a team that our eyes deemed dull and ordinary. Like Craig (played by John Cusack), a failing puppeteer, and Lotte (played by an almost unrecognizable Cameron Diaz), a pet shop owner, the Mavericks were unfortunately shrouded in a veil of anonymity, clouding the artistry and emotion of an unheralded collective.
Dallas’ shocking sweep of the Los Angeles Lakers in the second round was the first foray into John Malkovich, an actor that everyone in the movie seemed to recognize, yet none could pinpoint any specific movie roles. Still, for Craig, Lotte, and the lot of other nameless faces in a crowd that wanted 15 minutes away from their existence, Malkovich’s identity was a marked improvement over their own. For the first time since 2007, the Mavericks weren’t an afterthought. It was a moment of triumph, to be sure. But, of course, 15 minutes is never enough time.
The series against the Oklahoma City Thunder would prove to be a lesson in puppetry and mastery. In Dirk Nowitzki’s virtuosic performances throughout the series, we see Craig’s mastery of Malkovich’s body and mind, not only effectively creating the world’s greatest puppet, but also a conduit for the hopes and dreams that never materialized. With the exposure, Craig finds appreciation that wasn’t there before. Malkovich’s influence and celebrity meant the freedom to exhibit a skill that society had prior deemed to be a dying artform. Suddenly with a great playoff run, the labels that clung to Nowitzki’s career became archaic. It’s not that Craig reinvented puppetry, and it’s not that Dirk redefined being ‘soft’. But a larger audience, one without dismissive preconceived notions, helps restructure persona. But most importantly, through Malkovich — err, this Mavericks team, Nowitzki finds himself as close as he’s ever been to being a champion. It’s a dream that’s as close as it’ll ever be to reaching fruition. But he’s not the only one with dreams.
We learn in the movie that there are vessels of immortality. It’s been a long time coming, but the Mavericks vessel has ripened, and those on board know they won’t be long for this league. By mid-March, Dallas’ roster eerily resembled an All-Star team from the mid ’00s, except without the legs. We know the stories. Jason Kidd, Jason Terry, and Nowitzki have all tasted the NBA Finals before. Shawn Marion and Peja Stojakovic are relics of earlier offensive revolutions, both millimeters away from tasting the championship round. Significantly older this time around, it’s absolutely stunning that all of these men have played crucial roles in getting the team where it is now. Terry and Stojakovic were lights out in the dismantling of the Lakers, while Marion and Kidd were invaluable defenders against the endlessly athletic Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook. Â They all carry their own baggage when it comes to failed dreams, but they climb aboard this vessel as a unit in hopes of basketball immortality; in hopes that a championship will absolve a decade of struggle, and validate a lifetime of commitment to this wonderful sport.
It’s a dark tunnel to the championship. It’s scary, and probably squishy. For Dallas, entering the mind of Malkovich means knowing what it means to be a champion. Nowitzki, his aging brethren, and the rest of the Mavericks are surely hoping that redemption can be achieved in the time it takes to be sucked in and spit out.
