Stream It Or Skip It: ‘The Weight of Gold’ on HBO, a Documentary About Olympic Athletes and the Stigma of Mental Illness

Right now, the HBO documentary The Weight of Gold reminds us that we should be watching the Tokyo Summer Olympics. Instead, the COVID-19 crisis pushed the games to 2021, and countless people worldwide are contending with challenges to their mental health. Decorated Olympian Michael Phelps understands such challenges — in 2018, he revealed that he suffers from ADHD and depression, and once contemplated suicide. His story is the lynchpin of this documentary, which stumps for greater availability of mental health treatment not just for athletes like himself, but also for anyone experiencing similar pain, stigma and lack of resources.

THE WEIGHT OF GOLD: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Phelps leads the charge for a number of athletes to share the extreme emotional rollercoaster of competing in the Olympics: Apollo Ohno, Sasha Cohen, Shaun White, Steven Holcomb, Gracie Gold, Katie Uhlaender, Bode Miller, Lolo Jones. History’s most decorated Olympian ever, Phelps made headlines by winning 28 medals, 23 of them gold, over five Olympic games — and for accruing a pair of drunk-driving charges. Behind the scenes, he was suffering. On TV, on a Wheaties box, he’s a picture of physical human perfection, which makes dealing with mental illness that much worse.

The other athletes’ stories are similar: Years, sometimes decades, of intense focus on one achievement — say, 40 seconds on the speed-skating track for Ohno — can be brutal no matter the level of achievement. Win gold, and the come-down is awful. Anything less than gold may render you soon forgotten. Make a mistake, and not only do billions of viewers worldwide see it, but your failure feeds a predatory media cycle that likes to build up a star’s potential and criticize them when it’s not met. Imagine dealing with that. Now, imagine you’re also hiding a psychological disorder that runs counter to the archetypal image of the strong, heroic international competitor.

Per those interviewed here, the International Olympic Committee offers little in the way of support for its “heroes.” Jones openly discusses her financial hardship — the Committee offers paltry stipends for athletes in training, and without a sponsorship, many are forced to work other jobs; she once served a smoothie to a customer who recognized her from a hurdles race playing on the TV behind her. Pressured to compete at a high level to keep managers and trainers employed, Uhlaender was strongly discouraged from leaving the grueling skeleton tour circuit to visit her dying father; later, after the suicide of a close friend and fellow Olympian, she asked the Committee for help, was presented with a bureaucratic tangle, and ultimately received none.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Documentaries Lindsey Vonn: The Final Season and Andy Murray: Resurfacing cover the agonizing prospect of early retirement for upper-crust athletes in their early 30s; Athlete A dips into similar waters with respect to the failures of the International Olympic Committee.

Performance Worth Watching: Holcomb’s participation here is heart-wrenching. And I’ll leave it at that.

Memorable Dialogue: Phelps contextualizes the film’s primary message: “Mental health was something I was thinking about a lot, long before the virus hit.”

Sex and Skin: None.

Our Take: This is a cold, hard look at the reality of life for many Olympians. It demystifies our view of the competition, with all its ceremonial grandiosity, sweeping music and heart-tugging TV profiles. It takes our perception of these impenetrable sports heroes and turns it upside-down. How can superior athletes struggle so much financially? How can someone who’s reached such greatness also reach such depths of despair?

Mental health disorders seem counter to everything society tells us about extraordinary athletes, but looking at it in retrospect, the yin and yang fit together all too tightly: Extreme highs followed by extreme lows. It seems obvious now. The Weight of Gold exists to remind us of the human cost of world-class sporting competition. Interviewees here use unflattering terms to describe the Olympic participation process; it’s a “conveyor belt” of talent that discards competitors who are past their prime and promptly replaces them with young hopefuls. The system rewards those who set aside everything — and we mean everything; ask Uhlaender — until they are their sport and their sport is them. They lose their sense of identity and self.

And then they lose their health insurance, because they’re unemployed.

And then some of them commit suicide.

In voiceover narration and on-screen interviews, Phelps underscores that Olympians aren’t alone in facing mental health struggles. He acknowledges his privileges — money, status — but asserts that people from all walks risk being stigmatized if they’re open and honest about their issues. The film makes this point clear, quietly asserting that an international campaign for increased mental health support and awareness is more valuable than international multi-sport competitions. “It’s OK to not be OK,” Phelps asserts as the documentary concludes, displaying resources for civilians and Olympians alike on screen (weightofgoldresources.com and teamusa.org/mentalhealth). Sure, The Weight of Gold feels like a PSA. But PSAs can be absolutely vital, too.

Our Call: STREAM IT. The Weight of Gold might make someone feel less alone in their suffering — or it’ll make you feel deep empathy for those who suffer.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Read more of his work at johnserbaatlarge.com or follow him on Twitter: @johnserba.

Stream The Weight of Gold on HBO Max