On Frozen Blog

Imagine setting out to document in film a historic sports achievement which by virtue of its time period offers only minimal archival footage. A great, great story to be told without much in the way of camera-eye evidence. Such was the dilemma-challenge confronted by Andrew Sherburne and Tommy Haines, makers of the celebrated 2007 documentary ‘Pond Hockey,’ with their aim of chronicling the American hockey team’s gold medal performance at the 1960 Winter Olympics in ‘Forgotten Miracle.’

And yet in the skilled filmmaking hands of these special hockey hearts what is ostensibly a project-damning weakness is instead turned into an asset: ‘Forgotten Miracle’ is rife with moving imagery alright, it’s just that we’re moved in this movie not so much by big-game footage or delirious, patriotic fan celebrations but rather the misty-eyed reflections of the now aged American sports heroes who carried off America’s first true Miracle on Ice.

This film’s aim is straightforward and noble — to correct the shortsighted presumption all too commonly held that the history of American hockey began in 1980 at Lake Placid. Most assuredly it did not. The 1960 American gold medal in hockey at Squaw Valley was a monumental accomplishment, in which not one but two miraculous victories were accomplished by the Americans, and we are fortunate that it occurred to Sherburne and Haines to pursue its telling. It had been forgotten, dwarfed into oblivion by the magic of Lake Placid, and moreover, given the age of many of the ’60 heroes, time was of the essence for a first-hand telling of this terrific tale.

This is a film that cherishes and celebrates the reminiscences of aged American hockey veterans, who also happen to be extraordinary Americans. “There weren’t any American citizens better than these guys,” the viewer is informed early on in ‘Forgotten Miracle,’ and 60 minutes later it’s hard to argue with the claim. They are the film’s stars, and star they do most brightly, recalling with stirring and most moving fidelity the feats they accomplished nearly 50 years ago.

There is at the heart of this film as well the thesis that in 1960 the United States managed to assemble the greatest collection of hockey talent ever for its Olympic team — a designation that almost certainly remains true today.

It will perhaps surprise no small number of younger viewers that the Squaw Valley hockey games of ’60 were contested outdoors, in famed Blyth Arena, which on its south side allowed a view of the Lake Tahoe Mountains. Hockey players in the ’60 Games occasionally wore touques rather than helmets, and the Games’ ice sheet often was bathed in the shadows of the day’s sun.

So how did Sherburne and Haines pull it off so successfully? They rely on the heroes themselves to weave a wondrous tale of underdog heroism: 11 of the 16 surviving members of the ’60 champions shared their reminiscences on camera.  Deft and expert third-party reflection (most especially Sports Illustrated’s E.M. Swift) adds poignant perspective. And most cleverly, Sherburne and Haines incorporate effective illustrative re-enactments of key moments as substitute for actual footage from the Squaw Valley Games. There is some actual footage from the Americans’ seven triumphs in 10 days at Squaw Valley, and it’s put to very good use in this film. There is an end-to-end rush for a sublime goal by Bill Cleary in the gold medal game, rendered in slow motion and black-and-white to majestic music, that will have you pumping your patriotic fist.

The ’60 team was more a collection of stars than was 1980′s. Minnesota defenseman John Mayasich, the film documents, was a precursor peer to Bobby Orr and Ray Bourque. His method of penalty killing, we learn, often involved his skating with the puck through and around the man-up club for fully two minutes’ time. Controversy enveloped the team when brothers Bill and Bob Cleary arrived at the 11th hour in the leadup to the Games, setting off notable internal strife on the team. But their talent was too significant to create any lasting resentment. Dave Christian won gold at Lake Placid and later starred for the Caps, but his father and uncle starred first on the ’60 team.

American Head Coach Jack Riley is especially riveting in this film. Surely physical frailty has set upon him now, but between the ears his thoughts are as crisp and erudite as perhaps they were 50 years ago. You listen to his delineation of assembling this team, of dissecting the Americans’ world-class Olympic opponents, and you want to suit up and play for him today. Of his goaltender Jack McCartan’s 32 saves in the final 40 minutes against overwhelming favorite Canada in medal round play, Riley observes, “No goalie ever played as well as McCartan that night.”

I was also enamored with Roger Christian’s fierce patriotic resolve and uninhibited displays of emotion. In the gold medal game against the Czechs, with his team trailing 4-3 after two periods, Christian forsaked the use of an oxygen tank to combat Squaw Valley’s high altitude, telling a teammate, “If no one else wants to win this game I’ll go beat these guys all by myself.” Christian scored four goals in the game. “I had a good game,” Christian ludicrously understates with tears welling in his eyes, his body shaking at the recollection. “I scored four goals in that game and that was pretty much the highlight . .  .” he means to say, but is too emotional to finish, “of my life.”

I bristle at the notion that 1980′s American triumph was a one-day fluke — consider the NHL careers of so many of those heroes — but the significance and merit of the 1960 story is manifestly momentous: this was America’s first gold medal in hockey, its first-ever triumph over Russia in international play, and to secure gold the Americans had to pull off not one but two miracles — beating the world’s two best teams in hockey, the Canadians and the Russians. Moreover, as Sports Illustrated’s E.M. Swift pointedly claims in this film, the talent of the Americans in 1960 remains perhaps unmatched by any other U.S. Olympic entry.

We debate with great fervor the merits of American professional hockey players today in the leadup to international competitions, and yet watching a film like ‘Forgotten Miracle,’ I’m left with a burning desire to see a non-statistical classification added to our player selection methodology. Going forward I want the young men who wear our colors to be of a character caliber of their 1960 counterparts. We could do a lot worse if we had no other criteria.