Bobby Fischer, a troubled genius in the pre-internet age
The brilliant new Hollywood movie Pawn Sacrifice portrays the life of tormented chess genius Robert James “Bobby” Fischer from his early days as a prodigy to his historic 1972 match, at age 29, with Russian world champion Boris Spassky. Actor Tobey Maguire portrays Fischer with remarkable authenticity – indeed, pitch-perfect for those of us who met Fischer in his prime.
The film depicts a match that became a signature event in the cold war between Russia and the United States. It also makes one wonder whether a creative genius like Fischer, deeply troubled yet supremely functional at the chessboard, would be able to exist in today’s unforgiving online world.
Fischer certainly got attention back then, but information was filtered very differently than it is today. Journalists used to lead the way, rather than slavishly following the flow of superficial internet traffic. The story of an erratic kid from Brooklyn taking on the Soviet empire in its national sport made good copy for journalists, who understood the significance of the event. The match garnered front-page headlines in major newspapers around the world on a daily basis for two months, with commentators providing live move-by-move analysis for up to five hours each day.
Back then, there were only a few television channels. There were no DVD players or pay-per-view services. Still, that was not the only reason people remained glued to their TV sets to watch the match. The surreal environment, the amazing chess turns, and the cold war backdrop made Fischer one of the most famous people in the world that summer. I won’t humour myself that it was the chess analysis that drew attention, although I was a commentator for public television on the pivotal 13th game.
For the American champion, the match was the consummation of two decades of chasing the title, starting from his days as a child prodigy. After a lifetime of living in relative poverty for a superstar (even though he frequently appeared on the cover of major magazines), Fischer finally found himself playing in a match with a $250,000 purse. Of course, it was a pittance compared to the $2.5m that each fighter was guaranteed in the 1971 Ali-Frazier fight. But Fischer recognised that US culture marginalises any pursuit that does not produce big money, so he viewed the six-figure cash prize as the ultimate symbol of advancement in his sport.
For Russia, the match was not about money; it was about hearts and minds. The chess world had long been the perfect battleground on which to prove the superiority of the Communist system. Although most Westerners today pretend that we always knew that Russian-style Communism would fail, it was not so obvious back then. The leading introductory economic textbook of the time, by Nobel laureate Paul Samuelson, was still predicting that Russia might overtake the US as the world’s largest economy. To be fair, Russians valued chess enormously, even if it did not produce a lot of income. In many ways, chess was Russia’s national sport. No wonder Fischer’s quixotic pursuit of the championship led American policy mastermind Henry Kissinger to call Fischer and urge him not to back out, as he had threatened to do.
Whatever his status in the US, Fischer was certainly the most beloved American in Russia. The majesty of his play transcended propaganda in a country where everyday people could appreciate and understand the innate beauty of the game. In the run-up to the championship, Fischer trounced two very good opponents with unheard of 6-0 scores, an astonishing result when so many grandmaster games end in draws. Russian fans were so excited by Fischer’s unprecedented achievement that they reportedly jammed Moscow telephone exchanges to get information.
After a while, operators would simply pick up the line and say “6-0” and hang up. In the end, even Spassky paid the ultimate tribute to Fischer’s genius, clapping along with the audience after Fischer’s inspired sixth-game victory, as portrayed in the movie. The American might have been the ultimate chess genius, but the Russian was the class act.
Director Edward Zwick does not shirk from showing the demons that plagued Fischer. He was justly concerned that the Russians would go to great lengths to prevent him from being champion, but ultimately rational concerns tipped into paranoia, and Fischer started to turn on his closest friends and confidants.
One suspects that in today’s online world, Fischer’s paranoia and personal flaws would have tripped him up long before he became champion. After Fischer became champion and simply stopped playing competitive chess, his mental illness became much worse. Though no one can condone Fischer’s virulent rants and dark thoughts in his later years (he died in 2008), it is sad to realise that someone of such towering creativity and genius, who inspired so many people through his chess, might have had his career ended at a much earlier stage today. We live in a different world. Pawn Sacrifice recalls the world in which Fischer’s feats were possible.