Starring Cliff Curtis. Rated 14A

The Dark Horse takes us intriguingly deep into subcultures we might not otherwise know. Unfortunately, it uses storytelling devices so overly familiar and so flatly executed, they blunt what we see.

A sophomore venture for writer-director James Napier Robertson, the film is a fictionalized portrait of Genesis Potini, a New Zealander who overcame his sometimes crippling bipolar disorder to lead several groups of aboriginal children (and, later, all kinds) to chess championships.

Potini, who died of a heart attack at age 46, was a fearsome and rotund fellow, known for his violent temper and speed-chess skills when young, and eventually for his focus on troubled kids. But Robertson turns his troubled hero into a holy fool, giving veteran Cliff Curtis a partially shaved head and brightly coloured robes—a gentle Maori Krishna whose mental disorders are visible mostly in his tendency to slap himself in the face during times of stress.

Ignoring the complexities of Potini’s condition, the filmmakers lard up their story with a standard-issue crime plot that has Gen’s fearsome brother (impressive Wayne Hapi) turning his own son (James Rolleston) over to a vicious biker gang for initiation. Again, instead of using screen time to suggest the roots of these infamous Maori outlaws, the film simply hands us a transplanted version of an American inner-city drama, complete with clichéd “street” dialogue and empty macho posturing. The bad writing only underlines the limitations of a mostly nonprofessional cast.

Is it uplifting to witness the eventual triumph of Potini’s ragtag band of chessboard misfits? Of course. But it would have been better if the whole game hadn’t been lifted from other movies.