42

42 is the long-awaited biopic of Jack Roosevelt ("Jackie") Robinson who, by taking the field on opening day in 1947, broke the color barrier in American big-league baseball.  It's a big, feel-good story, so why was it such a hard movie to get made?  (Scripts about Robinson have been kicking around for nearly 20 years.  At one point, Spike Lee was going to direct with Denzel Washington in the Robinson role.  At another point, Robert Redford was considered for the Branch Rickey role.)  Unfortunately, I think this speaks to an unspoken flaw in the Hollywood system.  Movies are expensive and Hollywood wants receipts, not prestige "art house" pictures.  Would there be a "wide audience" (read that as "would whites go?") for a movie about Robinson?  (This may also explain Rickey's large role in 42 and the casting of such a known box-office force as Harrison Ford in that role.)

Based on this weekend's box-office returns - yep.  Grow a backbone, Hollywood.  Tell good stories, support them with a strong marketing campaign, and yes, people will buy tickets.  Sort of like baseball itself, now that I think about it.

Any movie that begins with "the following is based on a true story" makes me shiver a little and I know that events here have been compressed and altered to make a dramatic story even more dramatic, but I have to run past that - it's not Ken Burns' baseball documentary; it's a studio release.  If 42 makes anyone delve more deeply into the story of Robinson & Rickey, fine by me.  (And there's plenty to learn there - go explore the significance of the number 42 in baseball - I'll get you started with this link.)

What struck me about this film was how much things have changed.  42 - Robinson's jersey number and the only number retired from all of baseball - focuses on the lead-up to that fateful opening day, covering his signing by Brooklyn Dodgers general manager and president Branch Rickey, his training in the Montreal farm team, and his preseason travails with the Dodgers.  What I think gets so often lost in translation are the details - we boil things down to "Jackie Robinson, first major league African-American baseball player" and zoom on.  And while that statement is technically true, it is out by a mile when it comes to telling the whole story.

We've forgotten how bad things were.  We think open, overt, institutionalized racism only happened in the Deep South, so it's shocking to see the raw fear and hatred aimed at Robinson in cities such as Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati.  And it's ugly.  (Character actor Alan Tudyk, who plays Phillies manager Ben Chapman made me squirm in my seat - and that exchange is historically accurate.)  A scene in which a young boy, thrilled to be at a big-league game with his daddy, listens to the catcalls being hurled at Robinson and then joins in will probably make you cringe.  We do teach our children and they're always watching.

The movie is strong, with snappy dialogue (the radio commentary by the Dodgers' announcer will make you smile at the turns of phrase like "this game's tighter than a new pair of shoes in the rain") and fantastic performances - Harrison Ford (who plays Branch Rickey) reminds us that he's got real acting chops under that Indiana Jones fedora and I predict a strong movie career for Chadwick Boseman, who plays Robinson (most of his work has been on stage or on television up to this point).  I don't think it's quite a perfect movie - it's a little old-fashioned in that our heroes have no flaws in this film; it's all about Robinson acting with quiet dignity until the yahoos come around and the cigar-chewing Rickey taking the heat, bolstered by his strong Methodist faith.

But you know what?

I like old-fashioned.  I like seeing people dress up to go to a ballgame.  I like seeing Florida rednecks show that not all white folks thought the system of segregation should go unchallenged.  I like occasionally corny dialogue (and I find myself suddenly a Pee Wee Reese fan).

You know, as the movie tells it, Dodgers manager Leo ("Nice guys finish last") Durocher was suspended for a year because he was "carrying on" with a married actress and the Catholic League didn't like that moral fault.  (There were also accusations of "Leo the Lip" running an illegal dice game - that's not covered in 42.)  They threatened Rickey that if he stuck with Durocher, he'd have to face a Catholic boycott of the Dodgers.  Rickey was a fine, morally upstanding man who wanted to break the color line because it was the right thing to do, but he was also a tough businessman who wanted to sell tickets and he didn't care who rooted for the Dodgers, provided they paid for their tickets.  So Leo, who once berated his own team by famously yelling, "I don't care if [Robinson] is yellow or black or if he has stripes like a zebra!  I'm the manager of this team and I say he plays!" gets suspended for a year while Ben Chapman, who yelled the most horrible racial slurs at Robinson was ignored until some of the quotes wound up in the papers, at which time he was told to knock it off and pose for a publicity photo with Robinson.

Yes.  Times have changed.

By the way, my favorite quote about Jackie Robinson isn't in 42.  Ford Frick, who was the president of the National League, learned about a plot by the St. Louis Cardinals to strike if Robinson took the field with the Dodgers.  Frick made it clear what would happen if the Cards went with that course of action:  "If you do this, you will be suspended from the League.  You will find that the friends you think you have int he press box will not support you, that you will be outcasts.  I do not care if half the league strikes.  Those who do it will encounter strict retribution.  They will be suspended, and I don't care if it wrecks the National League for five years.  This is the United States of America, and one citizen has as much right to play as another."

Baseball.  Gotta love it.

Play Ball!

In baseball, the relationship and trust between a catcher and a pitcher is not to be underestimated.*  Sure, the pitcher gets most of the glory, but without a good catcher crouched at the plate calling the pitches, you got nothing.  Trouble with the Curve doesn't concern itself with that, but that's about the only relationship that isn't given quality screen time in this movie.  At its heart, Curve is about change and resistance.  Do we take a chance and trust our guts and and hearts, or do we cover ourselves up with gruffness and BlackBerry messages and hope to God that we never have to be honest about anything that really matters?  One's easy and the other's worthwhile.  But the choice isn't easy.

The film features four strong characters - Gus (Clint Eastwood), an aging baseball scout with failing eyesight; Mickey (Amy Adams), his nearly estranged daughter who's on the fast track to become partner at a high-powered law firm; Johnny (Justin Timberlake), a pitcher Gus signed to the big leagues but who blew out his arm and is trying to figure out his next move; and Pete (John Goodman), who's head of scouting for the Atlanta Braves and therefore, Gus' boss.  Seeing these four onscreen is a pure delight.

It's good that these characters are drawn with such detail and nuance, because the rest of the Curve is populated with characters taken straight from the Stock Character Warehouse, which is my major complaint.  Curve is a fairy-tale baseball movie in which the good are rewarded and the jerks get their well-deserved comeuppance and I'll admit I took great satisfaction is seeing the worthy elevated and the windbags deflated.  Yeah, yeah - we both know life doesn't really work that way (not often, at any rate), but it's still great fun to see.  And watching Justin Timberlake clog in some dive of a bar was nearly worth the price of admission.  And it seems to be true that Clint Eastwood pictures need to feature either a gun, a horse, or both.  (Note: this one has no guns.)

Clint Eastwood has had a career that makes strong men faint.  He's lasted longer in a business that is constantly scanning the horizon for the next big thing than just about anyone and he's done it with grace and style.  Look - Clint's career predates my entire life by more than a decade - his first credited appearance was as "Jonesey" in Francis in the Navy in the mid 1950s.  (That same year, he was "Jennings" in something called Revenge of the Creature proving that we all gotta start somewhere, I suppose.) He's given us the Man with No Name, he's been Dirty Harry, and ohmyheaven, he reclaimed the Western in 1992 with Unforgiven.  He knows jazz and gave us the wonderful Charlie Parker biopic Bird.  He's a talent to be reckoned with.  In Curve, he seems to be enjoying his status of Elder Curmudgeon of Hollywood and this is a worthy movie.  As Johnny reminds us, to get to that magic .300 batting average which denotes Big League talent, you have to be willing to strike out 7 out of 10 times.  Johnny's talking about far more than baseball and that's a lesson that Gus hasn't learned and therefore was one he couldn't pass on to his daughter.

Trouble with the Curve isn't as funny as Bull Durham or as touching as Field of Dreams, but it's a nice addition to the collection of baseball movies that remind viewers of just why America chose the devilishly-hard task of hitting a round ball with a round bat as our national game. 

*One of the best songs ever about this is Eddie From Ohio's "Catchers Drummers Anchormen" - check out the lyrics by clicking on the title.  And if you don't catch the song's reference to "with a wave of his arms/He kept it fair," check out this link.  Ah, baseball - you break my heart and make it soar at the same time.