I’m not carping, though, because 42 is a very well-made film, beautifully shot, the unfolding of the narrative crystal-clear in a way that’s rarely seen in movies nowadays. The pacing almost seems ponderous, measured against the hyperactive jump-cut editing that dominates the contemporary screen; but sometimes it’s a relief to be able to sit through a whole movie without ever thinking, “Wait…what just happened?”
With the exception of a couple of tiny parts, the acting is excellent as well, with even those cast as Robinson’s most racist adversaries – notably Alan Tudyk, tough to watch but spot-on as Phillies manager Ben Chapman – treading the fine line of embracing their unsavory characters without slipping into dumb-redneck cliché. The most interesting character development, of course, happens among those of Robinson’s teammates who are dubious about him at first, but gradually come around to a feeling of team solidarity as they witness his grace under fire: Jesse Luken as Eddie Stanky, Lucas Black as Pee Wee Reese and especially Hamish Linklater as Ralph Branca, who struggles the longest with his fear of speaking out. John C. McGinley is an interesting bit of casting, since his voice doesn’t much resemble the oh-so-familiar folksy tones of Red Barber, but he captures the longtime Dodgers announcer’s sly humor and gentlemanly way of nailing unsportsmanlike behavior to a tee.
The big discovery here is Chadwick Boseman in the lead; this should certainly be his breakout role. He’s onscreen for most of the film, and consistently dead-on as he channels the inner turmoil of a man who knows exactly what he’s taking on and wants it badly enough to endure the abuse, never losing his temper or lowering himself to anywhere near the level of his tormentors. He lets us see how close to the edge Robinson comes at times, and how hard it is to drag himself back.
But he also shows us the fire in the man when he plays the game, the mischievous urge to beard his opponents by stealing every base that he possibly can. Boseman’s Robinson is not quite a saint, but he conveys real nobility. It’s for this portrayal that parents should take their kids to see 42 at an impressionable age, and for all of us white Americans to make sure that our most embarrassing borderline-racist kinfolk sit through it as well.
And then there’s the movie’s other hero, Branch Rickey. Granted, women of a certain age who grew up thinking that Harrison Ford was one of the hottest hunks in Hollywood are going to have to be stoic about the fact that he’s turning into a geezer. What’s surprisingly fun about this role for him, though, is how enthusiastically he wallows in that geezerhood. At 70, Ford is actually five years older than Rickey was in 1946 (though he’s probably still more buff under those baggy Forties clothes, being able to afford a personal trainer and all). But he plays him like he’s decrepit, and wanting to do one last good deed before he casts off this mortal coil.
Ford’s rubber-jowled mugging in 42 – cantankerously declaiming “He’s a Methodist, I’m a Methodist; God is a Methodist!” as his rationale for choosing Robinson as his protégé – is an absolute joy to behold, and a reminder that this guy is a damn good actor and not just a pretty action-movie matinée idol whose time has come and gone. He also makes us admire the brave and forthright Dodgers CEO almost as much as Robinson himself, despite his crotchety demeanor and the fact that his motivations in hiring a black baseball player are not entirely untainted by his business acumen. It’s nice to know that there will still be roles that Ford can get his teeth into, even if younger audiences aren’t ever going to buy him as Indy anymore.
For the record, there’s one Major League baseball player left still entitled to wear the number 42, having been assigned it before the decision was made in 1997 to retire the number in Robinson’s honor. Yankee Mariano Rivera is himself slated to retire at the end of this season; after that, no one will wear that jersey again. And one could do worse than to contemplate the dignity and grit of Jackie Robinson while wondering what’s the meaning of life, the universe and everything.
