Thursday, May 5, 2016

Concussion (Movie Review by Bob Racine)



                                   2 hrs & 3 min, color, 2015
                                     
In view of the fact that football is statistically and in every other regard the country’s favorite sport, I would expect that any motion picture pertaining to the game would be a big attraction at the box office.  But that would be true only if the film celebrates the game by taking us right onto the gridiron and highlighting the moment by moment contest.  Viewers would be looking for the excitement of competition.  The failure of “Concussion” to sweep audiences off their feet is attributable to the fact that what it has to say about the sport is quite disturbing from the get-go.  I am not a sports fan myself, but even I was shaken to my foundations by what this film uncovers.   To say that it is an indictment of pro football as such would not be entirely accurate; to say that it indicts the National Football League is right on the money.
                                     
That is not to say that Writer/Director Peter Landesman’s screenplay was created precisely to deliver a black eye.  He had something much more crucial in mind, I am sure.  At the very least he wanted to enlighten his audience concerning the intricacies of what has come to be known as Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) and take us through the personal ordeal of a brave, committed pathologist intent upon “fixing the problem”.  

The man is a multi-degreed physician hailing from Nigeria named Bennet Omalu.  In 2002 he was employed at the coroner’s office in Pittsburgh and was asked to examine the deceased body of Steelers star Mike Webster following his suicide at age 50.  Bennet was not yet a naturalized U.S. citizen but had more than the required credentials for the job.  His investigation of Webster, a seemingly routine procedure expected to take a modicum of time, was soon to set the NFL on its head.  He expected to find evidence of severe brain damage commensurate with early Alzheimer’s but nothing of that sort showed up.  Later, at his own expense, he reconstructed the brain and its tissue and saw the deadly workings of CTE.  Top medical authorities he consulted verified his findings and within the space of a few years an article appeared in a medical journal based upon his work which contended that playing football and sustaining thousands of blows to his head from collisions killed Webster.  Needless to say the NFL was not delighted at his report.
                                     
Will Smith gives what I consider a very moving as well as studiedly professional portrayal of Bennet.  He combines a soft spoken delicacy with furor and fire when the script calls for them.  His romance with a young African woman immigrant Prema Mutiso (played by Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is one of honesty, good-humor and tenderness.  The two players together are a wonderful study.  I hope we will be seeing more of her.  By the film’s end they are married and starting a family.  She is a consistent support to him and shares the slings and arrows that the NFL deals out to her husband, and there are many. 
                                     
Quite a number of other casualties turn up after Webster.  All these men are top grade players who after early retirement began losing control of their mental processes and ended their lives in a most pathetic manner.  Meanwhile the NFL keeps sending men out into the game, doing whatever it takes, one drug or another, one enhancement of performance after another, just to keep them going.  A neurosurgeon named Julian Bailes, who once worked for the NFL and the Steelers and was a friend of Webster, joins forces with Bennet to get the story told.  By the time the two men link up Bailes has left both positions and devotes himself to exposing the truth.  Alec Baldwin gives a strong convincing portrayal of the man, who takes a huge salary cut by his decision, aside from the loss of popularity that results.  He turns out to be of enormous help to Bennet.  
                                     
The abuse Bennet endures is quite shocking.  He is called a quack; he is denied the opportunity to address the NFL’s governing board himself, treated as a nondescript non-entity who is not worth listening to.  (One snide individual even notes the fact that he is not an American citizen, as if that should have any bearing.)  One thing that really hurts is the opposition of medical authorities on the NFL’s payroll, none of whom is a brain surgeon or anyone who has made a study of the brain.  Bennet is told that football is the golden goose that lays golden eggs and that he is threatening to cost the institution millions of dollars in revenue.  He is even told that the NFL now owns a whole day of the week (Sunday), the one the Church once did.  Ownership!?  Hmmm!!!  Football has presumably become the new national religion.  This mindset is what Bennet is up against, as well as the gargantuan monolith of big business.
                                     
After many years in a kind of exile away from the east coast, it takes one player’s suicide to tip the scales in Bennet’s favor and bring him to national attention.  It seems this ball player in his suicide note requests that his brain be studied after he is gone.  Lawsuits against the NFL then follow filed by relatives of many of the victims.      
                                     
Sometimes it requires an outsider to discover what is not obvious to insiders.  Bennet knew next to nothing about football when he came to the States.  He has no vested interest in the NFL or its reputation.  His approach is pure science.  He regards the dead bodies he works with as his patients.  Fellow employees at the coroner’s office are annoyed at his conversation with each body as it is brought in.  He asks the deceased to help him find out what really happened that meant the end of life for that individual.  It is a kind of ritual.  In one touching scene he tells his soon-to-be wife Prema that since early teens he has envisioned America as the nearest thing to heaven – literally.  His treatment as a pariah is a rude awakening from that dream.  Prema, at a moment when he is on the verge of despairing, tells him “If you don’t speak for the dead, who will?” 
                                     
One fact about this Nigerian that is of enormous importance to me is his Christian faith; he is a devout Catholic and so is his wife.  There is a very beautiful scene in the picture in which he talks to his unborn child.  It is late at night, Prema is in bed on her back, and Bennet puts his hands upon her swollen stomach and asks the child to speak to the Heavenly Father on his behalf.  He considers the child at that moment to be closer to God than he is.  This happens when Bennet is in a state of abiding sorrow over what he is enduring at the hands of the NFL; he asks the child to intercede for divine help.  To my recollection that is a first in dramatic motion pictures.  Whatever we may believe about the accessibility of God in the human struggle, I could not help but be in profound awe of this man’s devotion. 
                                     
When I had completed my viewing of “Concussion”, I felt a strong antipathy toward pro football.  I felt like taking an oath never to watch another minute of the game on television.  Basketball – yes!  Baseball – yes!  Golf – yes!  Hockey – yes!  Tennis – yes!  Football – no!  At least not until they find a way to modify the game so that heads do not collide!   But let me not mislead; these are my individual feelings.  The film is not a diatribe.  It invites contemplation more than condemnation.   I recommend it for everyone who wishes to be well informed and likes a quality docudrama as much as I do.


To read other entries in my blog, please consult its website:  enspiritus.blogspot.com. To learn about me consult on the website the blog entry for August 9, 2013.

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