Two-time heavyweight boxing champion of the world, Mike Tyson, is one of the most controversial, ferocious, reprehensible, strangely compelling, unknowable, simultaneously brilliant and laughably incoherent international pop-culture icons of the 20th century.  To borrow the words of Sir Winston Churchill, he is a “riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”

An emphatically raw and bombastically callow product of the unforgiving streets of Brooklyn, Tyson had accumulated 38 arrests by the time he turned 13.  A childhood wrought with poverty, neglect, and relentless bullying shaped the man we know today as the Baddest Man on the Planet.  But James Toback’s oddly riveting documentary, “Tyson,” suggests there may be more to the man than we thought–or less–depending on your inclination.  It will either legitimately challenge your existing notions about Tyson and elicit a genuine (if not conclusive) reassessment of his character, attributes, and even legacy, or simply reinforce your prejudgments.

Toback, a close friend of Tyson’s for 20 years, never pretends to offer an unbiased document on the life and legacy of the polarizing figure.  He instead, provides the much maligned, aging fighter a shot at redemption.  Aside from archive footage, Tyson’s is the only voice heard throughout the film’s 90 minutes.

What are essentially a series of confessional therapy sessions take place in a rented beach house in Malibu.  Tyson had recently checked into rehab after repeated arrests on drug charges, but was allowed to leave campus for a certain period everyday for filming.  And in a stroke of genius, Toback and Tyson never faced each other during the interviews as Toback sat on the floor behind the couch on which Tyson sat, facing the camera.  Relatively few questions were even asked allowing Tyson the opportunity to meander in and out of topics and speak at length on a variety of issues.  He bears his soul.

Yes, the man bit off Evander Holyfield’s ear, is a convicted rapist, a self-proclaimed womanizer and drug-addict, and once told Lennox Lewis that he wanted to eat his children (Lewis had no children at the time) but his candid admissions of guilt, remorse, and a desire to be loved are surprisingly persuasive.   The most surprising admission of all being that each and every time he stepped into the ring Tyson experienced real, genuine fear.  The man was closer to invincible in his prime than any other athlete in history, including Ali, yet he wasn’t immune to the self-doubting and insecurities that plague us all.

Tyson’s perceived lack of intelligence is another myth Toback places squarely on the chopping block.  Though he sometimes lacks focus and his delivery can be muddled, Tyson is a smart guy–sometimes even charming.  Yet he remains strangely unknowable.  One moment he plays up his dumb, street-thug caricature, and the next he flirts with intellectualism, saying things like, “I like the hip writers: Fitzgerald, the guy who committed suicide, Hemingway, all those guys. Some of them were alcoholics and drug addicts but they had fun. They were real people. They formed the culture of American literature. Hemingway admired Tolstoy, Tolstoy admired Pushkin, and Mailer admired Hemingway. It all flows down. The greats are all connected…”

Toback, who also wrote and directed “Harvard Man,” and “Fingers,” reveals as much about himself as he does about his subject.  His obsessions with macsuline brutality and the vices that eternally fetter his own soul have slowly evolved, coming to a head in “Tyson.”  This, Toback’s best film, isn’t the juicy exposé many had wished for.  It’s a collaborative reckoning between friends with a shared male, and ultimately human, condition.