Tell The Truth - 42 and Race Movie Review

As such a widely consumed vehicle of entertainment, the film industry can encapsulate collective norms, and shape how people look at race relations. Movies like 42 and Race explored established societal hierarchies and Hollywood’s construction and reproduction of power relationships through character’s race. Some film critics condemned the movies for their historical inaccuracies, dramatization of the facts, and historical omissions, such as the fact that 42 completely ignored that Robinson was not the only black player on the Dodgers roster in 1947 (pitcher Dan Bankhead was also on the team in Brooklyn). 

Films that attempt to rigorously portray circumstances accurately can still obscure reality with a general untruthful representation of racial opinions. On the other hand, dramatized and fictionalized scenes in 42 and Race removed the independent identity of Jackie Robinson and Jesse Owens, and embraced the role of the white savior coming to the aid of the black athlete. Fictionalized creations of reality in these films also tended to imply a heroic democratization of sports due to the actions of the athletes, which obscured the maintained prevalence of systematic racism in society. 

42 and Race became problematic pieces of cinema, not from their factual inaccuracies, but when their stories unsettled a truthful representation of structural racism and removed the independent agency of the black athlete to instill their own place in society

42 Movie Trailer

Race Movie Trailer

In 42, Jackie Robinson was turned into a stoic, human myth rather than a complex figure that had to deal with the difficulties of baseball integration. The film failed to contextualize black discrimination in the majors by implying that Robinson’s heroic story could obscure the racial injustices of the past. Dave Zirin complained in the The Nation, “To tell his tale as one of individual triumph through his singular greatness is to not tell the story at all” because the film untruthfully conflated Robinson’s eventual baseball acceptance with overall black social integration. 

Despite accurately portraying the racist vitriol that Phillies manager Ben Chapman shouted at Robinson, the film failed to deftly show the subtle mechanisms of racial discrimination in the 1940s. By creating one of the film’s climatic scenes around teammate Eddie Stanky confronting Chapman, the manager seemed like the singular focus of white hatred against Robinson. In the New York Times, A.O. Scott mentioned how Chapman’s actions were “not an exception to the rule, but an especially ugly instance of it." The film underemphasized the systematic racism that black athletes faced by implicitly creating a sole representative image of that racism. 

Ben Chapman (played by Alan Tudyk) subjected Robinson to extreme racist vitriol.

Some of the film’s dramatizations did reinforce truthful characterizations of Jackie’s independent agency. Although the scene where Robinson was chased by a mob in Wendell Smith’s car was not strictly accurate, he told him “I don’t like needing someone to be there for me.” Jackie’s expressionism was not sullied by a need to show himself as the archetypical heroic figure that suppressed his black rage at the urgency of society. Unlike the rest of the film, Jackie was able to show his raw emotions. The truthfulness of Jackie’s complex humanism was shown through artificial manifestation of reality to symbolize that message.

Nonetheless, the movie largely fictionalized Robinson as a manifestation of Branch Rickey, a player that embodied Rickey’s sentiment of having “the guts not to fight back,” rather than espousing his own identity. As Robinson melted down in the clubhouse after hearing Chapman’s verbal abuse, it was only when Rickey came as the white savior to restore order did the seemingly helpless Robinson return to the field. By portraying Robinson’s emotional breakdown away from the public spectacle, and returning him to silent, individual suffering on the field, the film removed the truthfulness of Robinson’s active attempts to challenge and subvert systematic American racism as a black activist. 

Branch Rickey (played by Harrison Ford) coming to "rescue" Jackie Robinson (played by Chadwick Boseman) and return him to the field for the Dodgers. 

Zirin suggested that the movie followed “the classical Hollywood formula of heroic individual seeds obstacle… obstacle is overcome… the end.” By starting the film with Rickey’s dramatized proclamation, “I’m going to do it,” 42 ensured that the audience would not see Robinson’s identity and heroism as independent from Rickey’s own self-proclaimed courage.

Similarly, when Pee Wee Reese put his arm around Jackie during a ballgame in Cincinnati, a historically contested moment, the dramatized scene showed Reese giving Robinson the courage to continue to play and the transference of agency to Jackie only through the white athlete. 

Pee Wee Reese (played by Lucas Black) putting his arm around Jackie Robinson in Cincinnati.

Even if the film accurately reflected Robinson’s devotion to Ricky and his promise that, “I won’t let you down,” it still created an untruthful narrative of Robinson lacking his own independent agency. For example, years later, Robinson exalted the black power salute of track athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics, saying that he took delight in the fact that they were proud to be black. Ultimately, the movie dissociated Robinson from a collective black experience, implying that his internal emotions were an external construction, and making him, as A.O. Scott argued, “the least interesting character” in the film.

In the movie Race, director Stephen Hopkins did a commendable job of establishing Owens’s self-defined identity. The movie gave considerable thought to depicting Owens not merely as a product of the projections of his external environment, but based upon how he decided to present himself. 

When contemplating the request from the NAACP to boycott the Olympics, Owens told Coach Snyder, “Let me make the decision on my own.” Although the relationship between the athlete and the coach was clearly sentimentalized, Owens showed his desire to dictate his own actions and athletic body. Ella Taylor reiterated that idea in NPR as she said, “The point of view belongs not to Coach, but to Owens.” Unlike the mythic glorification of Robinson in 42, Race did not shy away from divulging Owens’s failures to stay faithful to Ruth Solomon, as Stephen Holden recognized in The New York Times when he said, “Owens, although usually well-behaved, can at times also be defiant, willful, and immature.”

Jesse Owens (played by Stephan James) won the 100-meter dash, 220-meter dash, the 220-yard low hurdlers, and the long jump at the NCAA Championships in both 1935 and 1936 under Coach Snyder (played Jason Sudeikis).

Race still lacked a truthful representation of the violent strand of racism present in the 1930s. As Race conspicuously displayed, a film can tell a factually correct story, and yet, still be devoid of an overall truthful illustration of the black experience. Although the movie accurately showed Owens being forced into the back of a bus, and showering only after white athletes, the film treated the racist behavior towards the black community as a mere inconvenience, rather than as a systematic repression. As the crowds wildly cheered for Owens during the movie, it obscured the "unforgivable blackness" of Owens.

Moreover, the film made it seem as though the ideology of white supremacy in Germany was isolated to what Carl Luz called the “insane Nazi government,” and its attempts to depict both domestic and foreign subjugation made it seem as though it was comparing forms of oppression. Race dissociated the German public from their racist dogma, as film director Leni Riefenstahl reinforced to Owens “The world can never forget what you did.” 

At the end of the movie, when a young white boy asked Owens for his autograph, the film implied that the future of race relations was changing simply because of Owens’s victory, although his own future was later constrained by a segregated American society.

Trigger Fingers Turn To Twitter Fingers: Sports In The Digital Age

On June 30, 1962, Sandy Koufax threw the first of his four career no-hitters for the Los Angeles Dodgers against the New York Mets. Recorded baseball was so primitive at the time that only a single radio version of the game remains today for fans to relive the experience. More than 30 years later, when NBC cut away from game 5 of the Rockets-Knicks NBA Finals to follow the O.J. Simpson car chase in 1994, nobody outside of the arena knew what was happening on the court.

However, the technological revolution of the 21st century has created a more accessible viewing experience for fans at the game, and for those watching at home. The availability of sports data has allowed for more inclusive online sports fandom, and social media and massage boards have contributed to the continual reproduction of the sporting spectacle.

Despite individuals increasingly feeling associated with an online sporting community through social media, sports in the digital age remain reliant on the construction of heroic sporting narratives. While social media does not ostensibly exclude fans from the sporting sphere as much as it did in the past, it upholds a groupthink ideology that marginalizes opinions outside of the collective norm. Overall, social media and new sporting technology have allowed fans to establish a connection with each other and better understand the game, and for the players, new data has emphasized certain sporting techniques to perform at a higher level, but created ambiguity over who controls, and releases, technological data.

The data revolution has allowed sports teams to use wearable technologies to track player movement and apply health standards to regulate their physical activity. Teams have attempted to use data analysis to improve performance and keep players healthy, and biometrics have allowed players to use the data as a reference point for their physical activity. Player Position Tracking is penetrating all the professional sports, especially basketball and soccer, because the technology has given athletes a way to monitor themselves. 

The Seattle Sounders use wearable tracking devices to monitor their players during practice.

The proliferation of tracking technology has caused an ethical dilemma over the right of employers to have too much information about their employees. Teams blood testing their athletes, or tracking their sleeping patterns, can easily be construed as invasive labor practices. Moreover, the ownership and transparency of sports data could inhibit player’s earning power and freedom of mobility if teams use exclusive data gathering capabilities to limit their off-court activity or to manipulate their salaries in contract negotiations (agents are already deeply concerned about this potential).

Wolfram Klug contented in an article in The Guardian, "The wider stakeholders stand to benefit as much, if not more, from analytics than the players themselves.” Player’s privacy, and fairness concerns over how teams use the new sports technology, have been exacerbated by the fact that employers can sell their confidential data material for commercial benefits. Klug noted that teams should partner with “technology providers with a commitment to being transparent and acting ethically,” because of the moral ambiguities over data control. Teams may complicate the situation by distributing information to fans to ostensibly improve their experience, even though the data infringes on player’s rights.

In the pre-digital age, public engagement with sports through the radio or television medium constructed a circumscribed subjectivity of the individual viewer. Without social media to allow for fan expressionism or interaction beyond the sporting venue itself, sports fans were objectified through their subjugation to a narrowly contrived heteronormative, gendered identity of fandom. In Jeffrey Montez's Discipline and Indulgence, in a chapter of the book titled "The Best Seat in the Ballpark: Lifestyle and the Televisual Event," he said, “This [television] genre produced male sports fans as crucial objects of their technical narratives, but objects all the same.” Fans consumed sports through specifically delineated sporting spheres, restricting their access to athletes merely through a controlled and externally constructed media imagery that objectified their experience. 

However, fans over the last decade have directly interacted with athletes, and each other, through new digital technology. Maxwell Neely-Cohen referenced Durga Chew-Bose’s observation in The New Republic that, “Sports for so long were actually not inclusive… but [for] NBA Twitter fans, it’s almost, dare I say, it’s wholesome.” Social media has allowed for the creation of online fan groups that transcribe the traditional sporting spheres into online communities, especially subcultures like NBA twitter. Cohen added that through social media the NBA “promotes itself inevitably, a self-replicating monster.” Since most people have digital technology, Twitter allows the league to reproduce its sporting spectacle for a more democratized fan base. 

Amy Bass said in her book, Not The Triumph But The Struggle, track stars John Carlos and Tommie Smith “needed a space for people to see them represented in the public eye," which was only available to them during the 1968 Summer Olympics. Athletes today have a platform to speak directly to the public whenever they want. Overt political statements, like when the Miami Heat wore hoodies in solidarity with Trayvon Martin, have entered the public consciousness because of the mobility of images through Twitter. Since consumers derive their socially constructed identity from what they consume and follow, sports fans have refracted their sense of self through the accessibility they have to the actions of their favorite players or teams. As such revered figures, athletes can actively shape public discourse over political topics.

In 2012, players on the Miami Heat wore hoodies to show support for Trayvon Martin.

However, social media has allowed fans to interact with others that confirm their opinions, rather than challenge them. Cohen said, “On Twitter, each basketball fan gets to curate their own assemblage of voices.” The ability of an individual to tailor thoughts to a specific audience paradoxically allows them to interact with a specific subculture, and yet, still secludes them from experiencing dissenting opinions through a conscious social media filtering. 

Just as fans were once objectified by the television experience, as Montez said, “There is an objectified status of television sports fandom,” fans have lost their individuality by allowing groupthink on Twitter to formulate their subjectivity. As an argument solidifies itself on Twitter, and a mob mentality justifies the prescribed conventional wisdom, thoughts outside of the collective norm become ostracized. As sports media members tweeted their disdain over Cam Newton’s post-Super Bowl press conference, conformity to that opinion became the standard judgment, rather than an individual appraisal of the situation. Twitter facilitates an arena where the first opinion becomes sanctified as fact, regardless of how individuals conceive of that viewpoint. Sometimes first is not always best.

Moreover, due to the feeling of impunity online, social media has become a vacuum for societal negativity, such as when Michigan punter Blake O'Neill received death threats for his costly fumble against Michigan State.

The growth of sports documentaries in recent years has reflected a demand for stories that create a heroic imagery of the athlete in the digital age. ESPN staffer Connor Schell advised, “Sit people down and tell them a good story.” Documentaries like ESPN’s You Don’t Know Bo have consciously told a story that glorifies the sporting subject to compel the viewer towards classifying athletes as mythic paradigms. The conflation of reality and heroic narrative is not confined to modern day, as Michael Oriard said in his book Brand NFL, the original “NFL Films has sustained a sense of mythic grandeur in decidedly antimythic times." However, television networks today have even more incentive for documentaries that create a mythical athletic identity because they need a compelling story to fill their air time. These stories have reproduced the sporting spectacle to create an athletic pageantry infused with a dramatized, and often masculine, narrative of success.

Thinking Outside a Black/White Binary In Sports

American racial concretizations have constructed a racially polarized society, where self-identification has become classified based upon individual categorization into a black or white constitutive group. Sports act as a reflection of society, and the narrative surrounding athletes and sporting institutions has similarly been focused on conceptions of identity along a black-white paradigm to avoid pluralistic understandings of race. 

However, the sporting experiences of Latino athletes, a racially ambiguous ethnic group through the lens of the black-white identity binary, have shown the arbitrary nature of that very racial binary, and the fragility of racial boundaries. During the age of US Empire, non-white others delicately manipulated racial perceptions to move beyond black exclusionary sporting practices.

However, Latinos were never accepted as occupying the same sphere as white athletes, and racial standards forced the players to dissociate themselves from their ethnic backgrounds. The continued recognition of Latino “otherness” has proliferated throughout the sporting world today, and the sporting community has marginalized their self-identity and ethnic orientation. While sporting figures existing outside of the black-white paradigm have been able to transverse racial boundaries and slip into sporting leagues, their racial ambiguity has forced them to be identified as outsiders to the game, lacking any real agency beyond the playing field.

In the early 20^th century, Latino baseball players could negotiate the fluid understanding of race in America by defying the racial binary. Latino ballplayers transcended the black-white paradigm because American racial standards were based upon individualized racial consciousness. The very first Latino players in the major league, like Louis Castro and Frank Arellanes, began to blur the color line. Teams allowed for the presence of non-white others in the sport by implying that they did not directly challenge black exclusionary practices to take advantage of cheap Latino labor. Through the racialization of the Latin athlete, Latinos were prescribed a racial identity not based upon their ethnic background, but in comparison to American racial standards.

In his fantastic book Playing America's Game: Baseball, Latinos, and the Color Line, Adrian Burgos said, “Latinos like Castro secured admittance in organized baseball, but this passage to acceptance did not necessarily translate into being accepted as a fellow white.” Latinos were only able to play in the big leagues because of their non-black status, but their foreignness was still pronounced because their identity was conceptualized merely as a differentiation from blackness. Burgos said Latinos “did not wholly reside in the same racial camp as fellow major leaguers,” and Latinos lack of holistic acceptance in baseball implied their lack of accepted whiteness. 

Thus, Latinos had to distance themselves from their ethnic backgrounds, and as Marcos Breton said in his article "Fields of Broken Dreams: Latinos and Baseball", lie about their African ancestry" to associate their racial identification separate from blacks. The only way Latinos could remove their inherent differentiation was through an Americanized process of racialization by distancing themselves from anything that would cause suspicion to the public’s racial perceptions. Latinos could play in the majors based upon their orientation along “Americanized” ethnic standards, but they were never truly accepted, and as Breton said, “they were treated like novelties.” 

While the slew of current Latino baseball players (Yasiel Puig, Jose Fernandez, Yoenis Cespedes, Miguel Cabrera, Robinson Cano, Felix Hernandez, Adrian Beltre, Jose Bautista, Yadier Molina, Carlos Gonzalez to name just a few) have been able to paradoxically transfix racial boundaries by starring in the major leagues, sporting discourse has constantly alienated their identity. Whereas Latinos in the past quietly slipped into the big leagues and failed to alter public sensibilities, Latino ballplayers today often play with a cultural flare while actively displaying their ethnic pride. Although so called "baseball traditionalists" like Goose Gossage ostensibly criticize foreign players for disregarding baseball’s unwritten rules, their underlying antagonism has been rooted in their lack of acceptance of Latinos, and their fear of foreigners taking over the American game. 

Since Dominican outfielder Jose Bautista’s now famous bat flip in game 5 of last year’s ALDS against the Texas Rangers in one of the craziest innings of baseball I have ever seen, Bautista has been defending himself against claims that he was showboating or disrespecting the game. (Russell Martin hitting Shin-Soo Choo's bat throwing the ball back to Aaron Sanchez in the top of the 7th, the game being played under protest, fans in Toronto throwing stuff onto the field, the Rangers making errors left and right in the bottom of the 7th, an interference review, and Bautista's home run all happened in one inning).

Jose Bautista's massive home run and bat-flip

Breton notes that back in the mid-20th century, Latinos faced the same stereotypical criticism because “labels were rooted in negative white perceptions of Latinos, labels that took hold and became a burden even the great players had to carry.” The expressionism of Latino baseball players, like Bautista throwing his bat (that was not just a normal Big Papi bat flip), symbolically threatens American racial and cultural control over foreign players, which has changed from the early 20^th century when Latinos were forced to adhere to the dominant white culture to stay in the league.

There have been many attempts within baseball to suppress Latinos, as evidenced by the fact that after studying "67 bench-clearing incidents in Major League Baseball over the past five seasons [it was] found that the main antagonists hailed from different ethnic backgrounds in 87% of the cases." The “playing the game the right way” argument implies that the correct way to play the game is based upon a white dictation of the sport in reaction to perceived Latino empowerment. Current Braves pitcher Bud Norris said, “If you’re going to come into our country and make our American dollars, you need to respect the game.” Norris's comment showed how the attempts of the baseball community to “normalize” the on-field actions of Latinos have marginalized their freedom.

Off the field, teams exploit players, and Latinos continue to be classified as outsiders. The institutional signing rules of baseball can be aligned with the long American history of imperialism, and reinforces the cultural inequality that baseball players are often trying to maintain on the field. Latin players have particularly been exploited by clubs as a source of cheap labor. 

Every MLB team today, including the San Diego Padres, have a baseball academy in the Dominican Republic. 

In an except from his book Raceball: How The Major Leagues Colonized The Black and Latino Game, Rob Ruck reflected,“Ballplayers today rarely take stands that resonate beyond the ballpark” since Latinos specifically fear any action that could subvert their chance at baseball survival. When Colin Cowherd said on ESPN Radio, “I’ve never bought into that baseball is too complex, a third of the sport is from the Dominican Republican,” he reflected a misunderstanding of the educational opportunities embedded in a racialized society for the non-white community, or the education present in foreign communities.

Furthermore, the presence of Latino players in Major League Soccer has similarly shown attempts to separate white and Latino athletic spheres, and efforts to systemically regulate the behavior of the racially non-white other. Chivas USA, which ceased operations in the league in 2014, was designed as an MLS team to attract Hispanic fans in Southern California, who comprise the largest single ethic group in Los Angeles County.

However, since the MLS consciously segregated its own league by having one team made up of Latino coaches and players, they alienated the Latinos from the rest of the league and symbolized that their presence could only arise in a specific sphere. Moreover, by constructing the team as the US version of a Mexican club team, the MLS did not allow the Latino players on the squad to define their own identity. Brandon Valeriano said on a broader scale in his article from The Washington Post, “We need to understand that the national sport should be a reflection of our views and values,” and the MLS underestimated Latinos wanting to value their American identification and not wanting their identity to be defined as “Mexican,” or as league outsiders.