Review of 'Tyson': The Netflix documentary tells the story of Mike Tyson the way only Mike Tyson could tell it, as he has done many times by now.

The four-part project follows boxer Floyd Ross from a violent childhood to becoming a sports star, and through decades of self-inflicted misfortune.

Of all the contradictions that make up Mike Tyson's public persona, none make me scratch my head more than this: Tyson's entire ethos can be boiled down to what "the people"—the mainstream in general, but the media in particular—think of him, but no figure of his stature has made a shameless effort to listen to a blatantly shameful attempt. Tyson's version of who he is.

He has been the focus of an Animal Planet documentary about himself and his love of pigeons (Taking on Tyson) and the centerpiece of the Adult Swim animated series about him and, well, his love of pigeons (Mike Tyson Mysteries). He had a long-running one-man show about his life (I think pigeons were involved, but I can't remember). Even when Hulu made a limited series about his life—Mike 2022, which couldn't have had less of a cultural footprint—and Tyson fumed when Hulu compared him to a slave master, that unauthorized version of Tyson's story was completely interchangeable with the authorized version he's told so many times.

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Familiar and visually uninspired, but still sporadically captivating.

I suspect that this desire to simultaneously be represented and express opposition to being represented is not unreasonable. It's an aspect of celebrity status, and that if someone were to ask why she can't tell her own story, an acceptable answer would be "money" - which is probably reasonable.

I imagine Tyson didn't get paid for his starring role in the Floyd Ross Netflix documentary, Tyson, and he's not even an executive producer on the four episodes. But it's only the version of the Mike Tyson story he wants it to be — one moment candid and emotionally raw, one moment dogged and hauntingly evasive.

Ross never directly asks Tyson what he hopes to get out of being on the project, making it clear that despite all the foul and illegal behavior that has been a part of Tyson's life, he has never been "undone," so to speak. He stayed out of the public eye for a few years while serving time in prison for sexual assault, and the tone of the conversation may have briefly soured in the months after repeatedly biting Evander Holyfield in the ring, but Tyson has maintained his place in mainstream culture better than almost any figure on a similar rap sheet.

Ultimately, that's what Ross' documentaries are all about. If you're already fascinated by Mike Tyson, Tyson is four hours of storytelling and is so formulaic in aesthetic that it's parodic, and I don't think it offers any new information or even a fresh perspective, since Tyson has already given his point of view endlessly. Still, it's hard to ignore Tyson's vulnerable swing, and Tyson is just as good — especially since most people upset by the over-platforming of this heavily injured player probably won't be watching anyway.

Synopsis for curious viewers thinking, "Finally, this will be my chance to learn about that guy from the hangover": Ross weaves the hard facts of Tyson's life, from his rough youth in Brooklyn to his teenage run-ins with the law to the youth center where he discovers boxing and, in turn, connects with Coach Q Legg.

I'm enough of a boxing fan that I have to admit that I've watched videos of most of Tyson's fights, some of them many times (you can watch the Michael Spinks knockout close to 40 times an hour if you wanted). I know it's hard to walk away from the botched stoppages that led to him becoming the youngest heavyweight champion.

Ross follows the rise and fall and highs and lows of Tyson's boxing career to a certain point, the rape trial, the misadventures of Tyson's fights at Holyfield, the tragic death of his daughter, drug addiction and recovery and relapse, and much more. Nothing is exactly off limits, but most things are controlled by when Tyson wants to be in the future and when he looks menacingly at the director and asks him to come up with another line of questioning, which he does several times. She'll talk about her unhappy marriage to Robin Givens, acknowledging levels of abuse while avoiding confirmation from others. But when it comes to the Indianapolis rape allegations, one-sentence denials are all you'll get. Since Givens and Desiree Washington either failed to appear or did not respond to requests to appear, what Tyson says stands.

Tyson is scary, funny, personable, obnoxious, introspective, shallow, expressive and incoherent all at once. He giggles at things that a decent person absolutely shouldn't giggle at and conveys wordless sadness multiple times in each episode. I think if you haven't watched any of Tyson's self-portrait workouts, you might find the quality of his open wound revelatory. Yes, Tyson seems comfortable talking to Ross, but I'm not sure that Tyson wouldn't have been as unhinged in conversation over a bowl of potato salad. In all those scenes where Tyson tells him to change the subject, Ross leaves to show where his limits are.

This documentary is not just a conversation with Tyson. Ross has a strong list of people throughout Tyson's life, from childhood friends to gym partners, boxers to family members to multiple women who haven't divorced him or accused him of rape.

There are more illuminating conversations with the likes of Lennox Lewis and James "Buster" Douglas, whose attempts to explain the meaning of Tyson's beating just weeks after losing his mother were my only emotional reactions to the docu-series. There are painfully real interviews with Tyson's children that highlight the pros and cons of having Mike Tyson as a father. While many of the more controversial and controversial aspects of his life are presented in a one-sided manner, the sense of betrayal that still feels before this friend and former manager, Rory Holloway, in Tyson's dismissal of his entire team is stirred with intense anger.

Ross keeps the storytelling very simple and perfectly in line with the style that ESPN and HBO sports documentaries have developed over the years. This means it's completely timed, except for the few times he backtracks and goes back a few days or even hours, which usually has no particular benefit. Editing throughout is rudimentary, whether it's the countless scenes of flying pigeons or the predictable rhythms of stock footage and inserts. There's a real chance to do something fun, or at least interesting, in episode four when Tyson convinces Ross to join him in pulling the illusory toad's hoof, but no flair or flourishes emerge.

Every now and then an outside observer, almost always the journalist and commentator Van Lathan, says something that can open the door for Tyson to frame his subject as a product of a particular historical or racial moment in America. Tyson, a student of boxing history, would certainly have appreciated a deeper discussion of the black heavyweight champion's role in the culture. But Tyson doesn't want to be OJ: Made in America and it definitely isn't.

That said, Tyson is not a documentary that I would recommend on its merits alone to people who think they have no interest in Mike Tyson or don't want to listen to it for four hours. But if you do, I'm just saying that Donald Trump is a more useful speaker here than Hulk Hogan's Netflix documentary, with (predictably) plenty of commentary on the rape allegations against Tyson, etc. Take all of this as you will.

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