Review: 42

As a kid, I was a huge fan of baseball – the type of fan who could recite statistics and imitate batting stances.  When I was in the fourth grade, I found a book in the school library that told the Jackie Robinson story and I immediately fell in love with it.  The book was hardcover bound with colorful albeit simplistic illustrations to accompany the large print.  That the book was written for kids, should give you some idea as to how sterilized a version of Robinson’s trials and tribulations the narrative depicted.  Having watched 42, I can’t help but feel like Warner Bros.’ attempt to bring this story to the big screen is not all that different from that book I read so many years ago.

I think we all know to some degree what the plot of the movie is about.  The story picks up at the juncture of Robinson’s life at around the same time Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford) is looking to bring a player from the Negro Leagues into the Brooklyn Dodgers organization to effectively break the color barrier.  The movie focuses on Robinson’s relationship with his wife Rachel, his teammates, reporter Wendell Smith, and Brach Rickey against the backdrop of the 1946 and 1947 baseball seasons.

I am not going to get into some of the creative licenses employed with this film as these type of Hollywood productions should never be considered as factual historical pieces.  Still, the blurring of facts aside, the one issue I can’t ignore about this film is how muted the racial angst seems.  Rarely is that captured outside of the appearance of a handful of outspoken bigots and general boos and jeers from disapproving fans in the stands.  While this may be the result of a choice on the part of writer/director Brian Helgeland to make the film more family friendly, it seems to me a missed opportunity to properly depict a gritty time in the U.S. when cultural norms were being challenged and change was on the horizon.  And because of this, the enormity of Robinson’s 1947 season with the Brooklyn Dodgers feels like something less than what it really was.

Another issue I had with this film was the production value.  Again, some of this is due to specific choices by Helgeland, but the visuals consistently feel second rate, even in those instances when the opportunity to capture a historic stadium like Ebbets Field presents itself.  I consistently felt as though I were watching a film more suited for a basic cable channel than one worthy of a theatrical release.  The best comparison I can make for this film is 61* - the Mantle/Maris film that Billy Crystal directed for HBO, only that film far exceeds 42.

As for the work of the cast, at times I felt as though I were watching the work of a subpar off-off-Broadway cast “playing down” to the level of the direction.  Harrison Ford hams it up as Rickey and plays into every cliché in the bag and Chadwick Boseman lacks the charisma that so many have come to associate with Robinson.  To say that he is not quite ready for prime time would be a spot on assessment as his is perhaps the least dynamic performance of the entire principle cast. 

On a more positive note, Nicole Beharie (Rachel Robinson), Andre Holland (Wendell Smith) and Lucas Black (Pee Wee Reese) represent their characters well, infusing some depth to the weight and gravitas generated by the various plot elements in play.  Their respective performances help redeem the film to a degree and bring back that sense of significance that is compromised by Helgeland’s sterile approach.

When I look at 42 in its totality, I don’t see it as a terrible movie but rather a missed opportunity to truly capture what is a great story.  While one can debate the merits of the writing, directing, and acting, there is no denying that when the final credits broll, you will walk away from the film feeling good.  And for many that is an attractive quality.  For the most part, I am ambivalent about 42 – a damning statement considering that I am a huge fan of baseball and its history, but I think that it makes for a satisfactory rental for those in search of family fare.  For those desiring more truth or more sizzle from a film, you will definitely want to look elsewhere.

Standout Performance:  Nicole Beharie.  She does a nice job of bringing Rachel Robinson’s character to the big screen despite the sub stellar work surrounding her.

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Review: Cowboys and Aliens

Cowboys and Aliens – the name alone seemed to promise a rollercoaster ride of a movie with two distinct film genres colliding on one screen. And with Jon Favreau directing Daniel Craig, Harrison Ford, and Olivia Wilde, this film promised a raucous redefining of both genres. I could not help but imagine an amalgamation of “The Quick and the Dead” and “Independence Day,” each time I walked through Times Square and glanced at the gigantic billboard featuring Daniel Craig along with the following statement: “From the Director of Iron Man.”

What the billboard should have read was, “From the director of Iron Man 2,” because despite the presence of Han Solo and the best James Bond-to-date, the film never takes off. Steve Spielberg may have received producing credits for this project but it feels like he directed it – and not in a good way. For most of the film, Favreau seems intent on slow playing the audience – a dramatic shift from a director who usually keeps plots moving at a brisk pace (i.e. “Elf” and “Iron Man”). For a movie such as “Jaws” or “Signs” in which there is a big reveal, deliberate pacing works. This is not that kind of movie.

Where the film ultimately falters though is in the character department. Favreau and screenwriters Orci, Kurtzman, et al ask us to like a group of characters that are not likable and the few characters that connect with the viewer (i.e. Beach’s Nat Colorado), are not significant enough to make one emotionally invested in the plot. By the time the leads make their dramatic turn towards redemption, I would venture a guess that anyone still watching this film has probably begun to turn their attention towards the exit sign.

I think the writers missed the boat on this film, because they crafted a script that takes itself entirely too serious. Sure, it has the gravitas and grit associated with the western genre, but sorely lacking is the bombastic flash that headlines sci-fi movies. The cantankerous quality that permeates this film is exasperated by the fact that Favreau has at his disposal two actors in Harrison Ford and Sam Rockwell who have mastered the art of infusing sharp wit into long action sequences, and he fails to utilize their talents. As a result, the film we are left with is one that is lacking as a western, as sci-fi adventure, and as a summer tentpole flick.

I am late in reviewing this film, as both the critics and the public have spoken ($89M domestic gross against a $163M budget), but I thought I would chime in because it is easy to get drawn into a vehicle that features so many accomplished performers. I really cannot recommend viewing this film in the cinema or home and suggest you steer clear in lieu of pretty much anything else.

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