When we meet Patrick Zweig, played by Josh O’Connor, in Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers, it’s abundantly clear that this guy needs money. His credit card is denied at a dumpy motel, he is salivating for a bite of the totally-not-product-placed Dunkin’ bagel sandwich, and his white Honda is trashed. He always seems to be looking for somewhere to sleep and looking out for free food and drinks, but we’re told explicitly that this man comes from money; he just won’t use it. Does this guy sound familiar?
If Patrick Zweig were actually financially fucked in Challengers, he’d be a less capable villain. You’d have to root for the down-and-out guy in his match against Art Donaldson (Mike Faist), who eventually becomes very rich. But, as Tashi Duncan (Zendaya) reminds Patrick when he asks for her help in the hotel alley, he has a trust fund he can lean on. That moment reframes his entire character, reminding you that sleeping in his car is a choice, just like how he chose not to go to college because his only skill is “hitting a ball with a racquet.” Tashi chooses to go to Stanford University instead of turning pro because she wants to learn other life skills, whereas Patrick can’t grasp the possibility of his future and can coast on talent. Despite two hours of whimpering, neither of Tashi’s “little white boys” are underdogs, and that’s what makes the movie so fun to watch. Everyone’s lying!
If you live in Brooklyn, then you’ve certainly met someone paying $600 a month in Ridgewood, only to find out they have lovely rich parents in the suburbs who probably wish their child was living with a doorman in Murray Hill. Watching Challengers, I immediately could place Patrick in my own social circles. He’s someone who Venmo-requests you for a $12 Uber, but a month later is in Tahiti with his nieces and nephews. He’s the person whose Zoom background you examined closely during COVID, trying to figure out how many bedrooms were in his family’s Greenwich home.
So here’s my advice: While you might want to see the sexy tennis movie with your polycule, let your secretly rich friend, who you’re pretty sure went to boarding school and “backpacked” through Europe for a year after, pick up the tab for your ticket, and put the ball in their court.
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