The new film biography of the venerable jockey is a work of unlikely heroism some may not respect.

Coming to your favorite streaming service soon.

The new film SHOEMAKER is little in every respect except for its
heart. The biography of the most famous horseracing jockey in history
is innately an unlikely subject, but the filmmakers have brought it to
life in a generous and piercingly sad story, beginning with tiny Willie
Shoemaker as a shockingly doll-like infant being placed upon the open
door of a stove to keep him warm by his impoverished mother.

By the time the film gets to the flying, breakneck racing scenes, the
Dolby-thunderous hooves crushing track in a melodic cacophony, we
are as invested in Shoemaker’s winning as the little hero himself.

I found myself wondering why some people are too callous in today’s
world to appreciate a little gem like SHOEMAKER. It isn’t overly
sentimental, or too “Hallmark-drippy,” as my former partner Rebecca
would say, but then she had her reasons for disliking schmaltz.

The horses in SHOEMAKER are wonderful characters in themselves,
and if I were to tell you–or Rebecca–that they seemed to speak in
telepathic ways, you would roll your eyes, but these brief moments of
surreal, animal-intelligence portraiture are truly eye-opening,
mysterious, and enriching to the story.

Rebecca grew to hate horses, but the manner in which they are
photographed in SHOEMAKER is without question the finest examples
in cinema history, and if that seems a small achievement, well, you and
Rebecca have a similar lack of background knowledge.

This is not to say the director forgot the human elements. There are
arguments between Willie and his fellow jockeys and the horse owners
that are such a blend of humor and raw emotion that anyone would
lose themselves in the story.

The arguments between Rebecca and I are not so worth recounting, but
she knows, like any character in a great film, that the blame is shared.
I could not have foreseen her child, my stepdaughter, would have
grown so attached to that horse when I first took them out to see it.
Anybody who has spent time around horses knows they have
personalities. SHOEMAKER eloquently illustrates that.

The link between humans–especially girls, I think I can say–and
horses is a millennia-long mystery. It certainly is not my fault, nor
could I predict, that Tania would fall from that horse. It was an
impossibility every bit as shocking as Willie Shoemaker’s surprise
victory at the end of this film.

I cannot say whether Tania would enjoy this film. I have spent some
time thinking about it, especially because I am no longer allowed to
communicate with her. The film is breathtaking, and the horse
sequences so highly unique in their dreamlike seriousness, that I can
hope, or even pray, that my former stepdaughter gets to see it. But it
has been years since I made contact, and it is not at all clear after the
injuries she sustained whether she could fully comprehend the movie.
I prefer to think that some of its heart and painterly beauty would drive
its way home.

Lately, horses have been very much in my mind. Preparing for this
review, not only did I review a century of horseracing movies, I have
discovered along with my current love, Iris, a beguiling new chestnut
mare at the stables in Barrett and I could honestly say that there is
something in its eyes that, for me at least, communicates a certain level
of trust. I would have to solemnly admit to you I have never seen that
before in a horse.

SHOEMAKER is playing in theatres nationwide starting this month.