Tribeca Review: Federer – Twelve Final Days is a Perfect Send Off

Among the trio that has ruled men’s tennis for the better part of 20 years, I’ve always gravitated toward Roger Federer rather than Novak Djokovic or Rafael Nadal. Federer’s style shone on every surface, a seamless mix of grace and precision rarely muddied by off-court theatrics or on-court outbursts. You could watch him glide through a match, trust the sorcery of his racket, and feel certain the man behind the shots wouldn’t betray your faith.

That isn’t faint praise. Federer projected decency while performing near-miracles with a tennis ball, and Twelve Final Days leans on that reputation. With extensive access to Federer and many of his peers, the film captures the melancholy of a changing guard—sentiments sharpened by Nadal’s and Djokovic’s recent injury-plagued runs in Paris. Federer highlight reels are always a pleasure, and the documentary supplies them in abundance. Yet viewers without built-in affection for the sport may wonder whether admiration alone constitutes dramatic momentum.

Federer’s career was synonymous with control—of rallies, of emotions, of the meticulous upkeep that kept his body tournament-ready. Once he sensed that mastery slipping, he chose his exit on his own terms. He selected the stage—a tournament he helped create, the Laver Cup—and engineered the format so his farewell would be a single doubles match.

As its title promises, the film zeroes in on the dozen days between Federer’s retirement announcement and that last appearance beside Nadal in 2022. Ultimately, Twelve Final Days is less a conventional sports chronicle than a meditation on an athlete curating his own curtain call, offering an elegant coda to a career defined by elegance itself.