Plot Details: This opinion reveals minor details about the movie's plot.

Each year, thousands of people travel to Florence to view Michelangelo's statue of David. Said to be one of the grandest examples of the divine nature in the human form, David is depicted with a slingshot over one shoulder and a determined look in his eyes as he contemplates a battle with Goliath. Even standing stock still, the imposing figure radiates power and charisma. If you exchange the slingshot for a dumbbell, trade in the Goliath obstacle for a Mr. Olympia title, and slap some skimpy bikini briefs on the guy, you get a reasonable facsimile of the Arnold Schwarzenegger we follow around in George Butler and Robert Fiore's 1977 "documentary", "Pumping Iron".

Arnold, who you may know better these days as the 38th Governor of the Great State of California -- and earlier as the prototypical action star of the 1980s and 1990s -- was once an unknown commodity outside of the relatively insular world of professional bodybuilding. If you're like me, you're barely tolerant of Arnold's latest two careers. But watching a charismatic young Arnold, in his element and at the top of his bodybuilding game, is still a great treat.

His charisma is so bright it makes even the brashest of statements palatable; like the proverbial spoonful of sugar, Arnold's charm helps a cutting remark go down easier. "The king of the hill is not as hungry as the wolf climbing the hill," points out one of Arnold's workout buddies. "True, he's not as hungry," replies the Austrian Oak. "But when he wants the food... it's there." That kind of brashness could have made him unlikable. But it doesn't. You know now, judging from his 20-year film career, that Arnold is anything but unlikable. Stoic, wooden, and un-thespian-like. But never unlikable. Even listening to Arnold brag that he'll give "bad advices" to the best friend that looks up to him as a father figure, doesn't diminish his star.

Much of this likeability, and charisma, is contrived. Arnold, in a 12-minute documentary contained on the 25th anniversary DVD, admits so. He goes on to outline all the ways in which the film manipulated the story, adding elements in order to create a better movie and a more agreeable cast of characters. He says that everybody on set always referred to "Pumping Iron" as a "docudrama", and never a "documentary. Does it matter that much of this is contrived? In one way, sure it does. When we're being sold The Truth, we should get what we've paid for. In another way, not so much. This film is a trifle, and it knows it. It's also a heckuva piece of entertainment.

Before the opening credits roll, we get a quiet scene of Arnold and his friend Franco Colombu practicing their poses with the help of a ballet instructor. It makes for a comic and yet humbling moment. Comic because the sight of two 200-pound men in a pas de deux is contradictory enough to tickle the funny bone. Humbling because of their sheer size. Arnold, smiling the whole time, could use the instructor to pick his teeth.

When the opening title song begins, it serves as kind of an overture for the themes these bodybuilders seem to be living by. "Pump it up, pump it out," sings Michael Small, over a hilarious light-rock groove. "Pump it up, it really feels like flying." Later, he makes some shrewd observations about the bodybuilding lifestyle: "Everybody wants to be remembered / Everybody wants to have a friend / ... / Everybody gonna live much longer / Everybody gonna be rich and wealthy / Everybody gonna be big and healthy." Okay, so those lyrics will never be mistaken for Bob Dylan's. But the movie's no "Citizen Kane" itself. It relies on overblown and obvious visuals to relay a simple and positive message.

Arnold's arrival at Gold's Gym, viewed with the benefit of hindsight, shows glimpses of his future political success. The man who would one day lead a successful gubernatorial campaign is seen shaking hands with everyone, smiling at even the lowliest of bodybuilders, and even mastering the politician's trick of somehow knowing everybody's name. Coming off five-straight Mr. Olympia wins (a record at the time), you can see that there's not one drop of envy directed towards Arnold from anywhere in the room, so beloved is he by his, well, constituency.

I've often thought that Arnold (like Keanu and Uma and, just to say so, every other actor known by just one name) was best when he didn't have to say much. That thick, Austrian accent tends to get in the way, true. But even if he had James Earl Jones' voice, his best instrument would still be his body. That imposing physical presence, even when standing still, is enough to dominate a movie screen. "Pumping Iron" is one of his first appearances on celluloid. And, being so early in his career, it only makes sense that it would break what would become a rule written in stone. Arnold rarely shuts up for very long, here. And you know what? He turns out to be better when his lips are flapping.

The man, left to his own devices, can certainly produce a memorable piece of dialogue. And I'm not talking about the staccato robot rhythms needed to utter a line like "I'll be back" or "It's not a tumor". No, "Pumping Iron" indulges Arnold by letting him go off on long, often provocative, speeches. The most famous concerns his theory of The Pump, when the muscles get hard and full of blood, after a long workout. "The Pump [is] as satisfying to me as coming is," he says. "Having sex with a woman and coming... I am in heaven. I am, like, um, getting the feeling of coming in the gym... at home... backstage when I pump up... I am coming day and night. That's terrific!" Later, when discussing his place in history, he says that he wants to be remembered hundreds -- if not thousands -- of years from now, in the same way that we remember dictators or even Jesus. These are great monologues, improvised or not. The Arnold of "Pumping Iron" is a textbook example of the Freudian Id, or the Nietzschian Superman. He worships at his own temple, says what he needs to say, and defines his own path through life.

My favourite Arnold scene, though, might be a promotional appearance he makes at Terminal Island, a medium-security prison located in Los Angeles. He stands on a podium in the yard, in the middle of a crowd. Hardened faces and harder bodies, dressed only in prison-issued denims, look up at him admiringly. Arnold, with no trace of inhibition, peels off his shirt and goes into a posing routine. He even has the self-confidence to trade homoerotic barbs with the assembled flock. This is a man who knows he is the centre of attention, and loves every moment of it. Never have I seen a more through example of how to be confident in a stressful situation. You never see Arnold less than completely relaxed, at any time here. Even moments where he's pretending nervousness -- watch him shake his fork at breakfast, trying to get his eggs into his mouth, the first time he sees a massive opponent -- are meant more to psych-out his competition, then to blow off any anxiety he may be feeling. It's almost inspirational to watch.

I almost think that if "Pumping Iron" were just the Arnold Show for 85 minutes, it would still be entertaining fare. But the filmmakers, in an attempt to round out the story, develop other "characters" and other "storylines". The most prominent is a little sub-plot involving Mike Katz, a Teutonic schoolteacher, and Ken Waller, a brash redhead, as the two compete for the 1975 Mr. Universe crown. Katz, the most soft-spoken big man I've ever seen, knows that this tends to help in competition. "I know the crowd is going to be for me," he correctly observes. Waller, in full-on villain mode, hides Katz' t-shirt when both get backstage. The film plays up this moment, and even implies that this bit of psyching-out hurts Katz when he gets onstage. But, as the behind-the-scenes documentaries make clear, it's another case of much ado about nothing. It's great dramatic action, but hardly an objective version of the truth.

The better story, though, is the impending matchup between the immovable object that is Arnold, and the unstoppable force that is Lou Ferrigno. Ferrigno would later become best known for wearing green bodypaint and ripped jean shorts on the "Incredible Hulk" TV-series. Here he's just a shy, nearly deaf kid from Brooklyn, who also happens to be the biggest bodybuilder ever to enter a competition at that time.

There's some great work being done here, in the way the filmmakers compare and contrast Arnold's surroundings -- Venice beach, sunshine, smiles -- with Ferrigno's. The latter man conducts his workouts in a dark, cramped gym, surrounded by pudgy losers and, more importantly, a domineering father. The psychological portrait created between Lou and Matty Ferrigno is intriguing. The son just wants to please his old man, but the old man doesn't know that his over-bearing gym-father act is starting to wear down his son. Much of this was created just for the film; Matty Ferrigno was never really involved with Lou's workouts. But it still makes for some fine domineering-father/prodigal-son moments.

On this same note, the story, ostensibly, builds dramatic tension towards the finals of the 1975 Mr. Olympia contest, Arnold's last (until his unlikely 1980 comeback win). Apparently Arnold was coaxed out of his retirement plans of the year before, with the knowledge that a good showing in this film would help jumpstart his movie career dreams. It makes for the shamblingest of climaxes. But you really don't come to "Pumping Iron" for its narrative thrust, its tales of odds overcome, or even its character portraits. You come to look at overgrown He-Men flexing their pecs, psyching each other out, and burning charisma like it was kindling. And that's exactly what you get.

Recommended: Yes

Viewing Format: DVD