The story of Jackie
Robinson -– the first African-American to cross the color line in baseball and
swing a bat at a bunch of white guys –- needs no embellishments. It is one of
the greatest of American stories, a man finding love, fame, strength, and most vital
of all respect after sustaining unspeakable hate. But in Hollywood, every story
needs a rewrite. OK, writer/director Brian Helgeland (he co-wrote “L.A.
Confidential”) has a good film with “42,” and I cheered on newcomer Chadwick
Boseman as Robinson, despite knowing every outcome, but the “clap here!” music score
deafens, Robinson is treated like Jesus, and the go-capitalists! whack-off vibe reeks. Never
mind the stock side characters: The gold-hearted mentor (Harrison Ford), the
bus loads of reject bigots, and the one guy who must be reborn. “42” hits high
marks, though, when it shows baseball as a, yes, glorious American pastime
(long past?), but one marked with sin, as is all of America. Check the scenes
across the American Northeast –- not just the South -– that show the extent of prejudice,
and awe when rage overtakes Robinson. In Philly. Well done that. The title, and
all its meanings, is simple brilliance. B
Saturday, June 22, 2013
42 (2013)
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