Lance Armstrong in "The Armstrong Lie."
Lance Armstrong in "The Armstrong Lie."

Lance Armstrong's biking career is over, but its history leaves many questions unanswered. Alex Gibney's troubling documentary "The Armstrong Lie" addresses many of them while positioning its main character at the center of an enigmatic drama. In 2009, Gibney was set to direct an inspirational portrait of Armstrong's comeback following his retirement, but the project hit a wall when accusations that the cyclist had been doping over the years eventually led Armstrong to confess his misdeeds. Taking these new admissions into account, Gibney's finished movie is at war with itself, chronicling both Armstrong's successes and his sins, embodying the contradictions of its subject. 

Narrating the story in first-person, Gibney builds "The Armstrong Lie" around the history of his project. Opening with Armstrong talking about the fallout of his admissions, the narrative opens in the immediate aftermath of his poorly-received Oprah Winfrey interview this past January; Gibney explains that Armstrong agreed to tape a final discussion with the filmmaker as penance for misleading him in earlier conversations.

As a result, "The Armstrong Lie" echoes Gibney's last document of a fallen public figure, 2010's "Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzer," by shifting back and forth between the pinnacle of the man's success and his public downfall. The difference here is that the filmmaker has experienced the lie firsthand on multiple occasions, imbuing the project with the ire of the personal frustrations experienced by many of Armstrong's fans.

The Armstrong Lie

Watching the movie, it's impossible not to get wrapped up in Gibney's autopsy of Armstrong's confidence streak. So much of the footage finds Armstrong committed to his lies that the project transcends its roots in the sports genre as it becomes a larger investigation into the psychological motives behind Armstrong's fabrications. The full weight of his dishonesty is reflected in his searing gaze, which Gibney captures so many times at the height of its power, before the whole enterprise came crashing down.

Aided by candid testimonies from several former teammates and industry professionals who worked with Armstrong over the years, Gibney comes up with a compelling diagnosis for Armstrong's behavior by rooting it in both the competitive nature of his personality and, more generally, the history of the sport: Italian physician and cycling coach Michele Ferrari is positioned as the evil mastermind behind modern cycling's clandestine doping schemes, several of which fueled Armstrong's Tour de France wins (which were stripped of him last year).

Ferrari's shadowy influence on players extends far beyond Armstrong himself, and his influence implies that the entire sport has been afflicted by rule-breaking as a necessity to compete in the big leagues. Gibney never provides the counter-example of a talented player who has never doped. Armstrong may have misled untold millions, but he's also the face of a much larger problem.

Does that make Armstrong the victim as well as the culprit of his crimes? "The Armstrong Lie" foregrounds this duality: As one player puts it, the "moral relativism" of the sport forces those driven to make the most of its possibilities to seek out its shadiest extremes. Gibney's exploration contains far greater nuance than any Oprah-level exclusive, resulting in an achievement that strives to be definitive above all else. Armstrong would at least admit that much.

But so far, according to multiple sources associated with the production, he has refused to see it. That's too bad: Speaking to Gibney in footage shot earlier this year, Armstrong seems capable of taking a measured approach to analyzing his vast pileup of mistakes, so he should be capable of appreciating Gibney's cogent analysis of the rider's rise and fall, which provides a more credible explanation than Armstrong could provide in his own words.