Please don't spend money on this.

A lot more amusing than I thought it would be.

The performances transcend the film's tropes, grounding it in characters that feel more complete than this subgenre often produces.

It’s sentimental, ridiculously long and only occasionally funny

I thought the sound editing was the most outstanding aspect of the film. Alternately lyrical and jarring. A meditation on personal experience, made all the more powerful by the man immersed in the moment.The nature of Primera Liga soccer is quite apparent; much walking (although with Zidane it appears more like stalking)and trotting interspersed with bursts of outright speed and violent contact. As mentioned, if you're expecting a highlight show, you'll be disappointed. His best moment, beating three defenders to the backline before deftly chipping a pass over the keeper's arms for an easy header goes by in an instant. Zidane's focus is intense and unrelenting. I had the impression of thoroughbred horses several times- the CUs of Zidane's cantering cleats from behind, the thundering sound of players fighting for position as a ball is served downfield...

A poor effort from Douglas Gordon. For me this does a number of things. It shows up the easily neglected art of the sports coverage directors that broadcast games on television. It highlights the potential for charlatan artists simply filming anything in an unusual manner or outside its usual context and slapping an 'art' label on it. Worst of all though it squanders a wonderful opportunity to really explore the opaque world of one of history's most introverted, inscrutable sportsmen: this surely the purpose of the film, with its wistful, resonant Mogwai score.One exception to this is the wonderful sound design. Selim Azzazi's team have worked a miracle, isolating individual noises and chat during the game, weaving them into an ever-varied sonic kaleidoscope. Amazing.The joy of watching a fine footballer is what he is able to do in context. There is no context here, Zidane isolated in space, if not in time (depite repeated subtitles concerning the suspension of 'real time'). This might have worked - there are occasions where Zidane's stony face in front of a crowd reacting to something off-screen has an appeal. However Gordon does see fit to include TV footage to contextualise key events - goals, cards - and consequently the spellcasting is flawed. There is also no craftsmanship involved: we are told that there are 17 cameras but variation relies on shifting focus. Add to this a lack of decisiveness over whether to focus on Zidane's feet - his art - or to cover the man, and I was left feeling none the wiser as to what makes Zidane tick. I wish I'd simply seen the game on Spanish TV. 3/10

I saw a screening at the AFI Dallas film festival, and as you can probably guess, this is an experimental movie that people will have highly subjective feelings about.I don't hate soccer, and I enjoy abstract art, but this just didn't work for me. I agree with the earlier comment which said that Zidane's actions on the field had no context and no gravity or importance because we had no idea how they fit in to the rest of the game. Where was he on the field when he dribbled past defenders? Was he making a rush towards the goal, or just relieving pressure from the opposing team? When he sent a pass down the field, who was he passing to? Worst of all, when he is given a red card and thrown out of the game, why did he feel the need to go after the opposing player? It seems like to really appreciate the movie, you have to have a strong working knowledge of Zidane that I don't have and this movie doesn't give you. Without that, it's watch Zidane run, watch Zidane stand around, watch Zidane spit, watch Zidane not say much of anything that we can hear (by the way, how can you spring for 20 cameras and not put a microphone on him too?)And at times, the cinematography is actually too tight on Zidane. In the second half, he makes a fantastic play, rushing up the left side and making a gorgeous cross for a tap-in goal at the right post. But we barely see the result of his great work.To me, this movie is a lot like the short films Andy Warhol made where he would point the camera at a person and let it run for a few minutes while they stared into the lens and did nothing. Some people will find deeper meaning and some will really enjoy it, but many others will find it self-indulgent, dull, and pointless. I wonder how it would work if it were done with another sport where a player has more individual impact. Imagine this movie being tried with basketball, where the cameras focus on Kobe Bryant or Steve Nash or Kevin Garnett for a whole game.At least I made it to the end - one lady a few seats down from me left the theater entirely, went across the street to Borders, bought some books, and then came back.

Zidane, un portrait du 21e siècle offers an unusual and surprisingly thoughtful experience, providing a sense of the frustration and isolation of a legendarily talented footballer, but little more.The film begins with a silent first 15 minutes observing Zidane's skill and movement. It feels rather like you're watching the Skysports player-cam and as such, is a little disappointing. Coupled with the initial jumping back to the perspective of a viewer watching at home, then returning back to the high quality camera POV's, it leaves you somewhat restless, as the director tries to create a hyperbole of space and reality. However, you soon become aware of the human ambiance; Zidane's heavy breathing, feet dragging on the grass like a stag before battle, the visceral crunches of hefty challenges; all creating a very tangible texture.In a moment after the referee wrongly gives away a penalty, which the opposition score, Zidane approaches and speaks the words "You should be ashamed". Zidane's tone and presence makes this emphatic condemnation almost papal.There are times in this film when one finds them self checking the time remaining on the DVD player. Whilst being able to appreciate Zidane's awesome touch and effortless ability, the footage is repetitive and too enclosed to really gather a true sense of Zidane's perspective. Those audiences who make it past the 15 minute mark are rewarded when Mogwai's splendid soundtrack kicks in and is complimented by Zidane's subtitled monologue. Here, you really appreciate the fact that they didn't choose an English footballer as their subject. The delicate manner in which french translates, provides a poetic and cinematic syntax. We English are very wasteful with our words and I'm sure if we were hearing David Beckham's thoughts, we would be more spurious at the lack of numerous mentions of "Obviously", "You know" and "fantastic". At half time the film installs context to the game displaying both violently moving images together with trivial incidents apparently going on elsewhere in the world whilst the game takes place. The intriguing suggestion is that the match, tied with fate, is pointless and memorable like all things. In truth, after this point, the film has completed it's goal and as such, drags to the finish. The camera work seems dizzying and whilst the intention is to make the viewer feel Zidane's experience, it ultimately fails. Whilst we empathise with his irritation and patience, we are not rewarded like he is, with the thrill of being on the pitch. There is an absence of space and vision, which, would truly mimic his sensation.Zidane's exit is practically welcome when he is sent off ten minutes before the match finishes, but he leaves with a poetic sense of irony. After a game of fisticuffs, his hot head landing him in trouble like it did at World Cup 2006, we are left with an emotive sense of futility, his sending off - a metaphor for mortality, leaving the pitch to a hero's applause. I think the film could have benefited from more subtitled speech from Zidane and with the extension of the soundtrack lasting from start to finish. But what hampers this film is it's lack of creating the true experience of space and vision in a football game, in truth, the attempt to re-create Zidane's frustration at not receiving the ball on time and having his passes clumsily lost, is overwhelmed by our frustration at the sense of claustrophobia and detachment.