Air

If the Icon Fits (Based on a True Shoe)

or

Crossing That Ol' River Jordan

"Who wants to see a movie about a shoe?" cracked the guy taking his kids to see Super Mario Bros.

 

Parenting kills irony.

Air does seem to have an odd subject for a movie—the efforts by "footwear manufacturing company" Nike to obtain the endorsement of up-and-coming rookie Michael Jordan for their struggling basketball division ("We're a jogging company! Black people don't jog!") doesn't seem to be movie material. A documentary on ESPN, maybe.

 

But, the script for the film had shown up on that gold-mine of movie ideas, "The Black List"*, and its author Alex Convery** did, indeed, craft a smart, ironic, compelling film about something "that changed everything." And not just Nike's fortunes, but also a long-standing deficiency in how athletes were compensated for their exploitation. Maybe you don't give a rip about the fortunes of millionaires (I hear you), but it's something that is making its way down to amateur sports and the inequality of parity in women's sports. It is a big deal. And it started here, with the unlikeliest company—who were just the ones to think outside of the foot-print.

Meet Sonny Vaccaro (a rather doughy Matt Damon), an executive at Nike's basketball division (which, unfortunately is having a tough "go" at it, losing money, and there's been a lay-off of its employees recently). He's a go-getter, a gambler, and a pal of Nike's idiosyncratic CEO Phil Knight (Air director Ben Affleck), whose zen-Buddhist way of running things is often contradictory and sometimes unfathomable. But, there's something about Sonny that Knight finds valuable, even if he finds him frequently frustrating in how he gets along with his fellow employees.

 

Like now, for instance. The basketball sneaker division has a budget of $25k to sign a scrimmage of the new drafted NBA players to endorse their product—which is running third in reputation and sales to Adidas and Converse. At a board meeting, Nike marketing director Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman) chairs a meeting to determine who of the "rooks" they'll approach, and the pickings are slim. They're, at least, uninspiring. They're certainly uninspiring to Vaccaro, who does not mince words that the choices are not ones that will inspire sales and product loyalty. He has one guy in mind—this new kid, Michael Jordan. But, he's told to forget it, they can't get him. He's too expensive and he wears Adidas on the court. Don't go chasing a dream. And, especially, don't put all the budgeted eggs in one basketball player.

But, Sonny Vaccaro doesn't listen. He tells anybody in ear-shot of his harangues (even if they're rolling their eyes) that "Jordan" is the one they should get—for the whole budget—despite all the hurdles: Jordan's agent—played brilliantly by Chris Messina; Jordan's own hesitance, overseen by the protective Jordan family, mother Deloris (Viola Davis) and father James (Julius Tennon—for those people sensitive to "nepo-babies," he's Viola Davis' husband/business partner); the corporate mind-set of Nike in general and Knight, in particular—when times are tough is not the best time to go for broke; and the general consensus that it can't be done (so why try?)

All of which just makes Vaccaro work harder for it. He's not an athlete, but he's dogged, like one. He does his due diligence, talks to people who coached Michael, talks to his agent (for all the good it does), then starts breaking industry "rules" knowing full well that if he fails and Jordan doesn't sign it's business for Nike as usual...which is not good, and his job is probably on the line. But, he's of the mindset that if he can't sign Jordan, he probably shouldn't be there, anyway. It's a three-point shot at the buzzer.

First things first: go see it. It's brilliant (despite being "a movie about a shoe"). And you don't need to be a sports fan to appreciate it (although it might help). Like the brilliant Moneyball, it is a story steeped in the arcana of the sport, which is all throw-away stuff in the end, because it's about something else...something more primal and more important. And it's a movie that you can appreciate for the sheer mastery of the craft of good story-telling.

The script—by Convery***—has crackling dialog that bears repeating outside the theater, and it's smart about showing people, warts and and all, but not caring one jot. It already assumes that the people of the story have feet of clay and doesn't try to portray them as anything but ordinary people in an extraordinary moment in time.

And Affleck's direction is his most assured. His strength as a film-maker is montage and he begins Air with a deep-dive into 1980's culture, combining archive footage with his establishing shots (also steeped in 1980's culture, just to keep the through-line) of life at Nike, Inc. Plus, he's a disciplined editor, who uses the "cut" as an accelerant for scenes that are already delivered at Hawksian speed.

He's helped by the legendary photographer Robert Richardson (Criminy, he even made Portland look beautiful!), who is less eclectic than he has been in the past, but offers work that could earn him a "co-director" credit. In one scene where Vaccaro talks to coach George Raveling (Marlon Wayans) in a dimly-lit bar, it's done in a couple of long-held "takes" with the camera constantly snapping focus between the two participants, directing your attention. That it's done with such brio, without trying to disguise it, tickled me.

And in another little creative touch, the movie isn't scored, but its soundtrack is  scavenged from 80's scores by Tangerine Dream and Harold Faltermeyer, when there isn't an period rock tune under-laying the action.

It is a great show. One quibble that I know people have been talking about is that the film doesn't really show Michael Jordan (and, in fact, goes out of its way NOT to show him)—there is one line spoken by "him" (and that's over the phone) in the entire movie—but, that conceit is in the Convery script. Leave "the man" out of it. We're talking about potential. And Affleck and Damon's rewrites push the concept of not portraying him all the way.**** They might have extended it to the title, as well. Convery titled his script "Air Jordan". For months in development, it was known as "The Untitled Matt Damon-Ben Affleck Project." It hits theaters as Air. Simply Air. No Jordan. Not even in the title.

 

But, he's there...in archive footage.The "real" Michael Jordan. All the while, they're making a movie looking at a Master from the vantage point of the future. We know what he did. We know the story. All of it. And they show it in flashes in the best part of the movie. But, we're talking about portraying a time before all that happened, when they're talking about potential...and betting on a future. A future they can't even conceive of.

A future nobody could conceive of in their wildest dreams. 

 

Except, maybe, for Michael Jordan's.

* It was picked "the best un-produced screenplay of 2021".

 

**  It should be noted—even if the WGA doesn't—that Matt Damon and Ben Affleck did an extensive re-write. But, what makes the Convery script so good is still in there. And the good lines, too.

 

*** Convery's script is there, but Damon and Affleck did an extensive re-write, adding one person—Howard White (played brilliantly by Chris Tucker), who heads Jordan Brand now. His character seems essential to the story now. Dam-fleck also eliminated the character of the brilliant Tinker Hatfield, giving the dialog to Creative Director Peter Moore (Matthew Maher, who is terrific). Too many designers, I guess, would have confused people.

 

**** I amuse myself with the idea that it's along the same lines as not portraying Mohammad...or the way clerics worried about the "sacrilegious" idea of showing The God-head" on movie screens. Here, they're respectfully not showing The GOAT. 

Respect

re: 'Re

or

Tell You What She Means To Me...

 

There had been an Aretha Franklin bio-pic in the works for some time, and it was inevitable with the successes of Ray, Walk the Line, Get On Up, Bohemian Rhapsody, and Rocketman. Supposedly, Franklin didn't mind the project and did some work approving it before her death in 2018. It's debut last Christmas was delayed by the Corona virus pandemic and it managed to make its debut on-screens near the anniversary of her passing.

 

It is expecting too much for the resulting movie, Respect, to do her justice. Franklin was an original, one of those barrier-breakers who created a genre by doing her own thing, galvanizing the music of the past and sending it soaring into the future, doing it her way, not just as a stylist, but as a creator. An established song in Aretha's guardianship became something else entirely, almost unrecognizable from the source. She had a fierce discipline in the studio, and an evangelical core of inspiration and expression. 

And her voice was powerful, scarily rafter-shaking. When Luciano Pavarotti called in to The Emmy's one year, pleading illness, it should have come as no surprise that Franklin, as a last-minute replacement, would knock it out of the theater (and probably cure Pavarotti's cold, as well!)—one can see that performance in one of the clips provided below. She was the Queen of Soul, in a time when jazz and gospel greats were still around to say "Amen." And probably "Hallelujah!"

The first scene sets the stage. The Rev C.L.Franklin (Forest Whittaker) wakes up a 10 year old Aretha (Skye Dakota Turner) to tell her she's supposed to sing for his party guests. As she makes her way to the living room, she waves to her Dad's acquaintances, "Hi, Mr. Tatum!" "Hi, Uncle Duke!" "Hi, Aunt Ella!" "Hi, Uncle Sam!" Hey, no pressure, kid. But, she manages to belt out her song impressing the luminaries. Aretha and her sisters live with their father and grandmother in Detroit, while their Mother (Audra McDonald) lives apart. Aretha lives for those visits with her mother, who counsels her to never let any man control her, that she never has to sing if she doesn't want to, or speak if she doesn't want to.

Whether her mother ever spoke those words is a matter of conjecture, but they might be a dramatic contrivance as Aretha, once her Mother has passed, stops speaking, stops singing (until counseled by Rev. James Cleveland—played by Tituss Burgess—that "music will save your life!"), and is victimized by a pedophile-friend of her father's, resulting in her first pregnancy at the age of 12. Then, her father starts using her in his services and she begins to sing during events for the Rev. King. At this point, we have a confused young woman torn between her gifts and others' desires to control them, which frustrates her and makes her succumb to "her demons." Such as taking up with bad-boys, like her first husband and eventual manager Ted White (Marlon Wayans), much against her father's wishes. It will be a contentious marriage with physical abuse and a wrestling match over crowing rights when she becomes a success.

But, that success doesn't come quickly enough for Aretha, who is grateful to be signed with Columbia Record (Tate Donovan plays producer John Hammond, and rather unctuously), but spins out four records of standards without a hit—the frustration is palpable as she is separated in her vocal booth from a studio full of white orchestra men. A dust-up at a club performance by a hacked-off Dinah Washington (Mary J. Blige in full dudgeonous diva mode), who suspects Franklin of riding her coat-tails and wasting her own talent, has her making a move (through the machinations of White) to Atlantic Records and producer Jerry Wexler (Marc Maron—priceless), who is willing to give her just enough leverage for her to sign.

But, rather than record in New York, as she's used to, Wexler takes her to Muscles Shoals, Alabama, with a motley crew of white musicians with attitude, where tensions run a little high, but Franklin starts getting the sound she wants. She starts to chart and as her star rises, so does White's desire to be seen as the genius behind the sound.

There have been enough of these "rock-star biographies" that one could walk in with a list of check-boxes and start marking them off—professional jealousy, bad partner, shady managers, unfulfilling success, going off the rails, substance abuse (with stage fall), and revelation followed by redemption. One wishes that the scripts emphasis on Aretha seeking love and approval might make it unique, but that's about every music-biography through-line (whether "based on a true story" or fictional) that's ever been done. I told a friend that I'd seen Respect and the reply was "Isn't that the Tina Turner story?" and after a beat, said "Well, actually, yes...yes it is!"

 

The only difference is we're talking about Aretha flippin' Franklin, and the talent that can't be denied, and however familiar the trail, that is still one mountainous talent that one has to try and duplicate.

It's got to be a daunting task to play Aretha Franklin, but Jennifer Hudson is up to it. You can quibble with the sound (maybe, but, jeez' she's as close as you can come), and she's got Franklin's speaking voice and demeanor down. It's like director John Milius said about casting Arnold Schwarzenegger for Conan the Barbarian: "If we didn't use him, we'd have to BUILD one!" That's how tough it is. Franklin's in our shared musical DNA—one of the voices in our collective heads. Doing an imitation will get you through a song, but not a full-length movie, and Hudson barrels her way through it and does the hardest work with her eyes. Look, if Rami Malik can win an Oscar for Freddie Mercury, Hudson should be a sure thing for this performance, both acting AND singing an indomitable role. Let's just give it to her NOW.

And now, Aretha Franklin...