Nothing beats a story well told.
Nike’s early effort to partner with basketball’s Michael Jordan seems an unlikely topic for a fact-based mainstream drama, but in director Ben Affleck’s hands, the result is mesmerizing.
And that remains true, every minute, even though we all know this saga’s outcome.
The magic moment: Nike creative guru Peter Moore (Matthew Mayer, left) outlines his
innovative shoe design plan for sports scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, center) and
marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman).
Credit Affleck’s sublime handling of a cast that dazzles in every scene, along with William Goldenberg’s staccato editing and scripter Alex Convery’s sharp, shrewd and thoroughly absorbing script; it positively roars with captivating, Aaron Sorkin-style dialogue that sizzles when delivered by this roster of accomplished scene-stealers.
Who knew sports endorsements could be so fascinating?
Affleck opens with a lightning-quick montage of iconic early 1980s moments, movies, products, TV commercials and cultural touchstones: the perfect way to establish the struggling effort of distant-third Nike to establish itself as a basketball-branded shoe, running dead last behind Converse and Adidas.
The former had Magic Johnson and Larry Bird; the latter had the “cool” factor that made it the shoe kids wanted to wear. Adidas also had its eyes on draft pick Michael Jordan, a hot-prospect guard from the University of North Carolina.
The problem, as former NBA draft pick-turned-Nike exec Howard White (Chris Tucker) explains to colleague and basketball scout Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon), is one of image. In a ferociously funny, rat-a-tat lecture delivered in Tucker’s inimitable style, Howard points out that Nike is “known” for making jogging shoes … and no Black kid would be caught dead jogging.
Up to this point — as the story begins — Sonny hasn’t had much success recruiting top players to the Oregon-based company’s basketball division. The situation has become so dire, the board of directors is threatening to shutter the basketball division.
“I told you not to take the company public,” Sonny laments, to friend and Nike founder/CEO Phil Knight (Affleck).
Sonny — who lives and breathes basketball, and has an instinct for talent — can’t get enthusiastic about any of the other draft pick candidates; he’s interested solely in Jordan. But the rising young star has eyes solely for Adidas, and doesn’t even want to hear from Nike. Nor will Jordan’s shark-in-the-waters agent, David Falk (Chris Messina) — despite a respectful professional kinship with Sonny — do anything to facilitate such a meeting.
Sonny shares his frustration with longtime friend and Nike marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman), who is sympathetic but similarly stymied. And it must be noted that the dynamic between these four men — Sonny, Phil, Howard and Rob — is strained, as is the atmosphere within Nike’s headquarters.
Even so — even when tempers are so frequently frayed — Affleck and Convery never lose track of the camaraderie, friendship and loyalty that bond these guys.
An early sequence establishes Sonny’s fondness for gambling, along with a tendency toward recklessness. Both will serve him well, when he impulsively decides — based on one of Howard’s perceptive observations — to buck the signing system’s long-established rules.
But this is a scorched-earth maneuver, which — if it goes wrong — likely would cost not only Sonny’s job, but those of many others.
Damon, sporting a paunch that Jason Bourne never would have tolerated, makes Sonny determined, scruffy, pugnacious and relentless. He also has a gift for impassioned oratory (thanks to the words Convery’s script puts into Damon’s mouth). Above all else, Sonny is earnest; Damon persuasively sells that trait.
Notwithstanding the engaging arguments and maneuvering taking place throughout, this ultimately is a story about belief: belief not only in one’s self, but also in the universe’s understanding that something is the right thing, at this moment, and must come to pass.
Affleck nails Phil Knight’s unorthodox, Zen-like managerial style, along with his fondness for Buddhist philosophizing. He’ll unexpectedly begin a meeting by leading his fellow execs in breathing exercises, much to the everybody’s silent amusement (Howard, in particular). But the group’s respect never falters; this is, after all, the guy who built a corporation after initially selling shoes from the trunk of his car.
Ironic, as well, that the CEO of a massive shoe company tends to hold court in bare feet.
Bateman’s Rob is the company’s soul: a pragmatist who wears his heart on his sleeve, and understands Sonny’s passion, but is far too practical to act in kind. At a key moment during the subsequent proceedings, staring into the abyss, Bateman delivers this film’s gentlest, most powerful description of likely personal consequences. (We bleed, on Rob’s behalf.)
Ah, but for sheer, quiet power, nobody beats Viola Davis’ portrayal of Michael’s mother, Deloris Jordan: kind but firm, sympathetic but pragmatic. Damon and Davis share a terrific scene in the back yard of the Jordans’ North Carolina home; Sonny and Deloris clearly understand and respect each other, but that’s not necessarily enough to surmount hard realities.
During this scene — and throughout the film — Affleck too frequently demands tight-tight-tight close-ups from cinematographer Robert Richardson. They’re distracting, and also unnecessary, given the acting caliber of this talented cast.
Speaking of which, Messina has — hands down — the film’s most explosively funny moment, when Falk rages into full meltdown during a telephone conversation with Sonny. This cinematic hissy fit may never be topped; Damon’s stunned and amused reaction, at the other end of the line, is equally priceless.
I can well imagine the actual Falk having reacted in such a manner, at this moment. Messina truly sells the role.
Julius Tennon has a small but telling part as Michael’s father, James Jordan: a good-natured man whose sharp gaze bespeaks a scholar of human nature, who cheerfully allows his wife to take point in serious matters. Matthew Maher is equally fine as Peter Moore, Nike’s Yoda-like creative director, tasked with developing a shoe that might win the day.
Asanté Deshon bookends the film, during two droll scenes as a 7-Eleven clerk.
In a clever touch, Affleck never reveals the face of Michael Jordan, played silently by Damian Young: present in numerous scenes, but always off to one side, or with back to camera.
This film doesn’t have a soundtrack per se, but instead benefits from music supervisor Andrea von Foerster’s clever use of pop songs and score elements from mid-1980s movies. Many clips are fleeting — Cyndi Lauper, Dire Straits, Run-D.M.C. (“My Adidas,” of course), Squeeze, REO Speedwagon, the Alan Parsons Project — although Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” gets telling exposure.
The overall result is a blast (even if it’s also a 112-minute valentine to Nike). If the actual events weren’t this much fun, they should have been.
No comments:
Post a Comment