Today, in this country, massive sporting events like the Super Bowl and the World Series are charged with fevered passion and hometown pride (and cute party platters arranged to look like footballs). But decades ago, at the 1980 Olympics, when an under-powered crew of amateur college hockey players defeated the seemingly bulletproof Soviet squad in what would be remembered as the “Miracle on Ice”, the game surged with a different kind of energy, stemming from the stormy political climate of the Cold War. At the time, Russia used their dominant ice hockey team (they flattened virtually all challengers from 1954-91) as a bullhorn to herald the preeminence of communism to the world. Tensions were so high between the US and Russia that Ronald Reagan made a speech underlining the political implications of the game, saying it would be “sheer folly for us to not make every conceivable preparation to win.”

It was a high-stakes playing field, and with his sharply composed sports documentary Red Army, filmmaker Gabe Polsky (The Motel Life) explores just how shockingly high the stakes really were for the five key Russian players (famously known as the “Russian Five”) who succeeded the felled Soviet team and struggled with a shaken sense of national identity when the crushing demands of their superiors (including the high-ranking government officials) eventually drove them to defect to the US to play for the NHL. The film is about as riveting as sports docs get, peeling back the layers of men who many viewed simply as enigmatic sports prodigies, but had in reality endured enough physical and psychological abuse to fill up two films. But Polsky keeps the story taut, using expert testimonials, archival footage, and incisive interviews with the players themselves to form a brisk, 85-minute powerhouse of a movie.

Our guide through the history of the team and the infamously harsh (and successful) Russian hockey program is Viacheslav “Slava” Fetisov, the extensively decorated team captain who led his squad to a slew of victories over the course of several years. We’re introduced to him in an unexpected moment of frustration: in the middle of a sit-down interview, Slava holds up his hand to halt the questions of an off-camera Polsky’s while he pokes around on his phone and takes a call, handling business matters, we assume. The director waits for a moment, but then ignores the request for a break and proceeds to ask a hilariously protracted question, goading the testy Slava to throw up a big fat middle finger in an act of annoyed defiance. He’s rude, yes, but there’s something magnetic about the way he carries himself, always moving and speaking with purpose and without compromise. Even at 56 he’s an alpha male through and through, and he’s clearly endured a lot in his lifetime.

Before Slava was named the youngest Russian team captain in history, he grew up in a tiny Moscow apartment with no running water shared between three families. It was a tough upbringing, but despite his parents’ dire financial situation, they bought the young Slava some hockey gear and sparked what would become one of the greatest careers in the history of the game. He eventually joined the hockey club, whose advertisements were militaristic in tone because, well, the club was run by the Russian army. “Real men play hockey! Cowards don’t play hockey!”

Slava’s first coach, Anatoly Tarasov, was his Obi-Wan Kenobi, instilling in he and his team the value of passing and finesse. Unlike the American teams, who used brute force and bulldozing aggression on the ice, the Russians moved like chess pieces, gliding the puck between each other with such control and strategic positioning that no team could crack their code, making them somewhat unbeatable. Slava’s teammates were Alexei Kasatonov (his best friend), “The Professor” Igor Larionov, “The Tank” Vladimir Krutov, and Sergei Makarov. The five were like brothers, spending every waking hour with one another and forging an unbreakable bond. “We were the same,” Slava says with a grin.

Despite national acclaim, the pressures of playing for the Red Army began to eat away at the boys, who at the hands of new coach Viktor Tikhonov had been subjected to horrific training conditions. They’d work out with a sustained heart rate of 220 bpm, would regularly train so hard they pissed blood, and lived in barracks with only one month of off-time a year. The team was fed up with the way they were being treated, and by the time Slava was offered a spot on the New Jersey Devils, he was practically itching to leave.

It wasn’t as easy as packing up and shipping off, however, as members of the Russian government were furious at Slava’s intention to defect. Officials did everything they could to keep him on Russian soil, to the point where the glorious team captain was brutally beaten in private and ostracized by his family and friends. “You want to play for our enemies? I’ll send you to Siberia. You’ll never get out,” an authority told Slava. It’s only natural to empathize with his position, especially in today’s climate in which Russia has reassumed its antagonistic perception in recent years. The lengths to which the government went to to keep their star players from leaving is as astounding as it is alarming. Slava did eventually manage to make his way to the states (he keeps the details of his escape from Russia suspiciously hazy, which Polsky cleverly highlights), as did his teammates, but it wasn’t all roses and fanfare upon their arrival. The Americans had no appreciation for the Russians’ balletic style of hockey, leaving them stranded on teams that couldn’t sniff the greatness of the “Russian Five” heyday.

Red Army is most stirring when it examines the painful inner-struggle of these men who left behind a country and government that took a heavy toll on their lives, but who could also never abandon their innate sense of nationalistic pride. While Slava’s time on the team ended badly, he admits in the film that he was very proud to be the captain of his country’s widely beloved hockey team. It’s these complexities that are often glossed over in the Russian team’s depiction in movies like Disney’s Miracle, but Polsky uses these inner conflicts as the driving force behind his Iron Curtain exposé, to great success.

In The Motel Life, an adaptation of the Willy Vlautin novel, an intense brotherly love is the only thing keeping Frank and Jerry Lee (Emile Hirsch and Stephen Dorff, respectively) afloat amid a sea of deep-seeded problems. It’s as sad as it sounds, but co-directors Gabe and Alan Polsky infuse their murky dual character-study with dark, underlying beauty that creeps up on you and sticks to your bones.

Frank and Jerry Lee live the life of working-class drifters, living out of crummy hotels around Reno. If Reno is like Las Vegas’ mopey little brother, Jerry Lee is the walking embodiment of the “Biggest Little City in the World”; he’s an alcoholic, glum, disheveled guy with a hyperactive imagination and a kind heart. When he takes the life of a child in a hit-and-run accident, he hits the bottom of his life-long downward spiral. Frank needs to scrape together enough cash to get them out of town before the cops can sniff them out. “All I’ve ever done is fuck up,” Jerry Lee utters to Frank, in despair.

The brothers’ mother died when they were young, and their father abandoned them shortly thereafter. Their devotion to one another is touching, and their rare chemistry is more than fascinating enough to drive the film. With Jerry Lee’s self-esteem and self-worth so low, it’s up to Frank to keep his spirits lifted, which he does by telling engaging, fantastical stories about the brothers leading a more adventurous existence, expressed on screen with eye-catching hand-drawn animation. In a wonderful scene, Frank helps Jerry Lee–who lost a leg in a train accident–take a shower, joking about the size of their respective…ahem…”packages”…claiming Jerry Lee got the good genes. It’s a sorry state of affairs, bathing your one-legged brother in a run-down motel, but the these guys taught themselves to cope, so they find a way to share a chuckle.

Hirsch provides a rock-solid leading-man foundation for Dorff’s more striking, flourished performance. Dorff completely disappears into Jerry Lee, and this may be his finest role yet. He wears his pain and regret on his sullen face, though his repentance is so true and honorable it gives him an air of grace. Garnering our sympathy with this character is no easy feat as, let’s not forget, he’s a hit-and-run offender.

The Polskys and DP Roman Vasnayov (End of Watch) photograph the brothers’ broken lives through a lens that’s just as hazy and smudged as their uncertain futures. It’s winter time in the deserts of Reno, and the filmmakers compose beautiful shots in the snow-blanketed scenery; when Jerry Lee burns down his incriminating car in an empty plot following the accident, the soft orange glow of the flames look ethereal nestled in the serene, heavenly blue and white surroundings.

Aside from the handful of animated respites, the story feels one-note and a little dormant. We watch the brothers prop each other up as they wade through their sorry, mucked up lives, and then the film ends, with a sigh. Actually, the quiet final moments are quite poignant, but the road to get there is so consistently somber and cold that it all feels a bit flat. Dakota Fanning and Kris Kristofferson‘s side characters are well-acted, but add little complexity to the overly-simplistic narrative. The Motel Life feels a little too down-in-the-dumps for its own good at times, but sparks of energy supplied by Hirsch and Dorff illuminate an otherwise dreary film.

Two brothers, Frank and Jerry Lee Flannigan, are forced to live life on the run after Jerry Lee accidentally hits and kills a little boy while driving. With their lives slowly falling apart, the brothers must rely on and support each other through cold winter nights in the desert towns of Nevada, using their imagination to strengthen their intense brotherly bond.

The Motel Life, co-directors Gabe and Alan Polsky’s adaptation of Willy Vlautin’s debut novel, stars Emile Hirsch and Stephen Dorff as the brothers. Also starring Dakota Fanning and Kris Kristofferson.

Stephen Dorff and Gabe Polsky sat with us during the Mill Valley Film Festival to talk about why it took so long for the film to be released, how hard Stephen fought for the role of Jerry Lee, why digital cameras are irritating, the advantages of working with brother co-directors, and more.

The Motel Life opens this Friday, November 8th in New York, San Francisco and select cities.

How does it feel to be in the Bay Area, showing the film off at the Mill Valley Film Festival?
Stephen: It feels great to show the movie. We had a great response in Rome, but then we had this big gap in time.

That was last year, wasn’t it?
Stephen: Yeah, in November or December. Now, the cut is rocking and we’re ready to go, opening November 8th.

What’s been going on with the film in the last year?
Gabe: We’ve been planning our distribution, basically.

Stephen: We decided we didn’t want to release in the summer. This is a fall movie. This is a cold movie that should be up with the big movies in the awards run. It’s that kind of film and it’s gotten a good response so far.

Gabe: Leading up to the release, we’re utilizing all these festivals–Woodstock, Chicago, Philadelphia, etc.–just to generate and build a buzz.

Stephen: We’re like the underdog; we’re gonna go tear up the streets. Jerry Lee’s coming out in full force!

Stephen, how did you get involved with the film?
Stephen: I just read the script, man. As an actor, I get sent a lot of scripts. Somewhere had just opened, and it was kind of like my resurgence time, I guess. Sofia had given me such a great role in her fourth film. I was coming from a whirlwind European trip where the movie went down like gangbusters. We won pretty much everything and felt like the king of the world. I came back to a pile of scripts, and I was like, “Whoa, I’m cool again! They’re sending me scripts!”

I was reading these Hollywood scripts and I wasn’t into them. On the bottom of the pile was The Motel Life, with the cover letter that said, “Emile Hirsch set to play Frank Flannigan. I liked that name, “Flannigan”. I liked the title. I was intrigued. I read the script and I said, “Why is this on the bottom of the pile?” My agent knows I like Emile Hirsch, knows I’m friends with him. What the hell? I immediately called my agent and said, “Forget all these other scripts. This is the movie I want to be in. I want to play Jerry Lee.

Then, it became one of those stories you hear about when an actor gets something in his head and he just won’t stop. I had a nice meeting with the Polskys, but they were going to Sundance and I was going to Tokyo with Sofia. I knew that they had a month before this thing started shooting. I just wanted to stay on them. In my heart I felt like they didn’t see me in this role. I know directors–I’ve been doing this too long.

Were Stephen’s suspicions true?
Gabe: No. I think we wanted to do our due diligence. We weren’t ready to make a decision. We had other actors come in and do chemistry reads and figure things out. Stephen was very persistent, and that made a huge difference. We got to know him a bit more, and he read with Emile.

Stephen: I got in a room and they said they needed me to read with Emile. I thought, Jerry Lee’s too good. I’m gonna fight for Jerry Lee, because that’s a character I don’t read. They just don’t come around that much. You read things every once in a while. I read Dallas Buyers Club. I knew exactly what those two parts were, you know what I mean? My friends produced it. I’m a machine. Every good film that’s being made, I usually read. I want to know what my competition’s doing. It’s a game to me. It’s an art form. I have a brain that likes to feed off of those things, so I knew I had something special here. I wasn’t going to let it go to somebody else.

Gabe: When we read him with Emile, we realized that there’s something in Stephen, his spirit, that the character had deep in his core. That’s what tipped it for us. He had this energy.

Stephen: I don’t get a chance to audition, ever, because I get offered movies. I do them or I don’t do them. This one kind of energized me.

Was it fun to get to fight for it?
Stephen: A little bit, yeah. In the room, I felt that these guys were smart. They directed me smartly. I loved what they said. I could see myself working with two directors–I’d never done that. I’ve always had one director, one captain. I thought, “Is this going to be weird?” In the end, it was beautiful the way they worked it. They’re different. Everybody’s different, the way Jerry Lee and Frank are different, the way me and my brother Andrew are different. It’s the nature of who we are. I got great notes from Gabe that Alan wouldn’t have given me, but Alan would say things that complemented what Gabe was trying to say. It was a really cool balance. I’m really thankful that I got the fuckin’ role, because out of all the characters I’ve played, I think he’ll go down as one of my favorites.

He was worth fighting for. Even if I didn’t get the part, I’m not going to go over to Gabe’s house with a gun and go crazy, but there are those stories you hear. Holly Hunter and The Piano. Jane Campion didn’t want to know her! My agent at the time worked with Holly Hunter, and Holly put her on a plane, flew her to Australia, knocked on Jane’s house door, read for the role, and got it. Then, she won the Oscar. You’ve got to fight these days.

As an actor, you’ve got to go with what’s out there. I’m not a real writer, so it’s not like I’m pumping screenplays out of my head. If those scripts aren’t coming to me, I can’t do my job. Unless I want to do dinner theater or work on the streets of San Francisco reading poetry, I’ve got to make the filmmaker want me.

So after you finally won the role, how did it feel to shoot the movie?
Stephen: We shot the whole movie in 24 days, in the snow, on film. I love that they shot on film, like Sofia. It felt nostalgic to me, because you don’t get to shoot on film anymore. We’re always on Sonys or Reds. Those little chips bug me. I feel weird when they put those in. “We gotta load the chip!” Even on Public Enemies. I’m working on this 100-million-dollar movie and it’s, “Let’s load the chip!” I love the idea of mags and somebody rolling film. That’s just me–I love movies and I love old filmmaking. I thought for the soul of this film, it was nice to shoot it on 35mm.

The film looks really great.
Stephen: Roman Vasyanov is one of my favorite DP’s. He’s been doing really well. He went on to do End of Watch.

Gabe: He shot Charlie Countryman. He shot The East. We didn’t have time to move the camera around too much. We had to be very economical. You can still make the frames beautiful…

Stephen: …without 50 feet of track or a huge crane shot.

Gabe: Yeah. Every frame could be a piece of art.

Stephen: It’s one of the greatest steadycam shots, the one where Emile goes into the bar to watch the Tyson fight. That’s a one-shotter.

Gabe: We wanted to capture the mood and the gritty feel, but also have it feel kind of classic, too, you know what I’m saying? Not too crisp, but have this sort of softness about it.

The shot of the brothers in the car in the snow is beautiful.
Stephen: I love that guy. I want to work with Roman again. I love the shot where I burn the car on the snow. There are some great images in there, kind of like postcards.

The boys did it right, and I had a feeling of that during the Emile casting. Emile is a grounded actor and is so real. He reminded me of myself when I was his age. I saw him in that movie, The Girl Next Door, and he was fucking great in it. I went up to him at the premiere of Old School or something and told him he was a great actor and that he reminded me of me, which is kind of a weird thing to say. He probably thought, “God, that guy Stephen Dorff is kinda crazy!” I told him, “We’re gonna play brothers one day.” I’ve always gone on my instincts in my life and in my work. I just know things. I can feel things. Sure enough, it happened. I feel like he’s one of my brothers, you know?

What was your approach to the role of Jerry Lee? You completely disappear.
Stephen: I really wanted to look different. That’s easy, that stuff; you can lay scars, you can grow your hair out. You can go a little too far–at one point, we did go a little too far–but we always pulled it back. I think the inside of Jerry Lee is really what I had to find. That was something that happened in a few different moments. It happened during a rehearsal that me and Emile had in this little office room where we just sort of played through the scenes. It happened at a restaurant, at a bar in Reno. I was working on the big speech that’s at the beginning, in the car. It sort of gets you into the movie. That speech was fucking hard, and I didn’t know how to tell the story without making it to “sob-story” but at the same time being frightened that I’d killed someone. And now, I have to bring this other dilemma onto my brother, who has other dilemmas already. We were working on it at that restaurant, and I remember getting into it and finding something there. Once we got to Carson City where the hub of Jerry Lee’s performance takes place–the hospital, the final motel–it came together there.