Film Review

Concussion Review

Published

11 years ago

February 10, 2016

Admin

Low Impact

♦ Tripwire gave New York Giants fan and senior writer Andrew Colman the job of putting on his helmet and armour to tackle Peter Landesmann’s sports drama Concussion

Concussion

Director: Peter Landesmann

Stars: Will Smith, Alec Baldwin, Albert Brooks

Super Bowl 50 has just been and gone, and so indeed has this film. Fans of NFL Football, including myself, once again witnessed America’s number one sport in excelsis – all glitter and sparkle, money, glamour, and balletic, explosive action, with rows of offensive ninepin linemen and merciless defensive backs sumo dancing whilst the quarterback, in the two seconds afforded him before he gets flattened, decides where to throw the ball (Super Bowl 50 was not a good game for either offense). It goes on for hours, and it’s all money, loud colours, deafening noise, endless stats, hatred of star players and bruising spectacle – all elements that provide the woozy catharsis in which American culture thrives. But there’s that underlying problem, that even social justice grandee Bill Maher laughed off recently (“those guys look like they’re enjoying themselves!!”) – those men in armour get hurt. A lot. As former Oilers and Falcons coach, the somewhat reviled Jerry Glanville once said, NFL stands for “Not For Long” – and although he was referring to errant officials, it’s definitely the case with players – the average career in this sport is three years. And yet of course, those Football teams don’t just represent the city they’re situated in, they are the identity, the lifeblood – especially in blue collar towns like Pittsburgh, Green Bay, Cleveland, Baltimore and Buffalo.

All that is enough grist for Concussion’s mill, and yet what we get is a film that is determined to pull punches, to focus on unnecessary subplots, tentatively hint at danger and generally remain outside stadia hothouses – this is no heavyweight expose. Directed by Peter Landesmann, the film, based on actual events and people, focuses on Nigerian pathologist Bennet Omalu (Will Smith), whose research and findings regarding Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy in former NFL players is met with stern corporate resistance and hostility. Aided by ex-Steelers team doctor Julian Bailes (Alec Baldwin), neurologist Steven DeKosky (Eddie Marsan, authentically gruff as usual) and county coroner Cyril Wecht (Albert Brooks, unrecognizable), Omalu learns of various former NFL players, starting with Mike Webster (David Morse) all sharing the same symptoms of brain damage leading to psychotic episodes and premature death. At first he is forced to back down by NFL commissioner Roger Goodell (Luke Wilson), then through a campaign of litigation, belittlement and more sinister measures, is coerced into relocating and abandoning his investigation. However, when NFL Players Association executive Dave Duerson, a man who roundly buffeted Omalu’s work, commits suicide, the NFL are forced to recapitulate.

The film chugs along pleasantly enough, but rarely catches fire – there’s the odd moment of contextualization regarding the relationship of the sport to the community and the fans, but this side of the equation is never given a face – everything remains studiedly within the realm of the suits and demagogues – Pittsburgh’s resplendent Heinz Field a garish amphitheatre nestled in the hazy middle distance, far away from bland officialdom. Will Smith, not playing himself for once, is remarkably assured and likeable as the tritely eccentric Omalu, whilst Marsan, Baldwin and Brooks are all within the moment in their efforts, although they don’t have all that much to do. The tragedy of the broken players is certainly touched upon, as is the fallout, but the film still shorthands their all-too brief arcs, consigning them swiftly to the mortician’s slab. The movie refuses to get down and dirty with what Football really is, and why its staggering popularity allows for collateral damage, even to the extent that doublethink and rationalization are acceptable across the board. And I’m as complicit as anyone, in that I think it’s a fantastic sport, which could only have come from the USA – it goes hand in hand with comic books, rock ‘n’ roll, and Hollywood blockbusters – all larger than life, in-your-face, and unapologetically brazen.

Such is the way, however, that although the film got made it is a predictably token effort. This ain’t the 1970s anymore, when corporations didn’t exert the stranglehold they do now, and there’s far too much at stake that even seasoned filmmakers have to tread on eggshells when it comes to bread and circuses. See you next September for the road to Super Bowl 51.

ANDREW COLMAN