The Land of the Free and Home of the Brave

By Ty Souders, with comment by Billy Oppenheimer

[1] To be a credible film, the majority of Brian Helgeland’s 42 must be based on fact. Because of this constraining characteristic, he is forced to work within and based on the truth. Using true events yet finding a way to send a meaningful message was Helgeland’s challenge. This scene, which comes roughly half-way into the movie, is a good example of how he does so. Helgeland wants the audience to realize that the myths this country was founded on are, in fact, not being acted upon. In his autobiography, Robinson makes this blunt admission in reference to the opening game of the 1947 World Series, his first World Series, at Yankee Stadium: “As I write this twenty years later, I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world. In 1972, in 1947, at my birth in 1919, I know that I never had it made” (xxiv). Helgeland modifies the truth slightly, placing the incident on opening day of the 1947 season, Robinson’s first season, to use the Star Spangled Banner to question whether the United States is really the land of the free we so blithely claim it to be. Helgeland builds to this dramatic point through four steps: Robinson emerging from the stadium tunnel, his greeting by reporters, his reception by the crowd, and, then, finally, joining his team as the anthem plays. These details are all meant to demonstrate different aspects of the challenges Robinson had to face in breaking baseball’s color barrier, none of which included hitting or fielding a ball. (see comment by Billy Oppenheimer)

[2] There is virtually no dialogue outside of the familiar, sacred words of our national anthem in this two minute-thirty second clip that actually slows the fast-paced film down quite a bit. Helgeland controls the tempo in order to explicitly point the audience to the significant event reenacted right in front of them. He uses a heroic trumpet tune and creative camera work to point out who and what Jackie is playing for. This is no longer a game, it is about equality, and Robinson is the face of social change. Close ups of Robinson throughout the scene reveal his tension. Camera angles give the audience a clear view of the dynamics of the crowd, especially the interesting fact that blacks and whites are sitting together in the stands. Helgeland uses a wide-angled view of the entire Ebbets Field, showing a bird’s-eye view from the rafters of what the day looked like. In this shot, color did not matter; it was simply a ball game. So many details with so little dialogue really allowed Helgeland to “talk” directly to the audience. Instead of words, he uses the camera as his microphone and pushes a powerful message to his viewers. In this scene, the camera truly speaks.

1) Into the Light

[3] As Robinson makes his way out of the darkness of the tunnel into the light of Ebbets Field on a fine April day in 1947, society as a whole makes the walk with him. The camera switches between following him, where we can see the famous number 42 for which the movie is named, and close ups on his face, where we can see the inner turmoil he is enduring by his expressions. His strong faith is not to be ignored as he stops and says a quick prayer just before making his way out of the dugout. The journey for both Robinson and society has henceforth begun. The long dark tunnel he walks through gives way to light -- and a dream. The invisible barrier that has blocked black players from Major League Baseball has finally ended. Hope comes with the light at the end of the tunnel. Robinson, totally alone, is pulling his race along with him, willing them into the light. While he obviously brings black baseball players into the light with him, Robinson also offers our semi-barbaric society an opportunity to come out of the darkness as well. Such powerful imagery in just this short walk onto the field. It’s an evolutionary step in our nation’s race relations.

2) White Noise

[4] Exiting the tunnel, Robinson is met by cheers from both black and white spectators, who are integrated in the stands. Quickly enough, he is mobbed by a group of white reporters who begin taking pictures and shouting questions. In an attempt to block out what becomes a sort of white noise that fades to the background (absolute pun intended), he scans the field for a friendly face. The camera is in first-person view here to let the audience see what he does. Unfortunately, he first finds only the ringleader of the petition to block him from the team sitting in the dugout, obnoxiously smiling back at him. Our camera-eye then makes its way into the stands where he finds the “crackers” of the crowd hurling racial slurs at him. He blocks this out as the audio of the scene follows suit and finally makes his way to Rachel. He spots her in the stands holding Jackie, Jr., and we feel a calm settle into the scene. The trumpet music gives way to a mellow piano. She even makes an expression with her face that reads, “this is it, this is what you wanted, now go perform.” The expression on Robinson’s face following the visual encounter is clear as he smiles and settles in. Along with Robinson, we no longer see or hear hate, no longer feel tension and fear. He only sees his loving family and realizes this moment is for a greater purpose than individual glory or the turmoil that has occurred because of the circumstances. Helgeland explicitly captures this sentiment from Robinson’s autobiography: “I suffered them [the racists] because I hoped to provide a better future for my children and for young black people everywhere, and because I naively believed that my sacrifices might help a little to make America the kind of country it was supposed to be” (75). The depiction of Rachel and the calming of the audio and the scene as a whole for a few moments allows the audience to relax with Jackie as we feel his greater sense of purpose take over. His grit and determination, the fuel for his fire, is established here as his family and more so than that, the black race as a whole. As the Star Spangled Banner begins, the scene cuts to the next portion and shows close ups of all the characters who have made this day possible.

3) Those Who Matter

[5] The anthem begins and the camera pans to show the singer, who is flanked by two police officers, a subtle reminder of how our ideals have always to be protected from the threat of violence, one of them white and the other black, a subtle reminder of our racial divide. The camera then makes its way to a wide angle, bird’s-eye view of Ebbets Field. The audience even sees two birds fly across the field to reaffirm the idea that we are now seeing what they see. With this shot, the camera cannot see racial color, only a baseball diamond with thousands of people in the stands. In this part of the sequence, Helgeland points out that we are in fact the only mammals that explicitly illustrate our differences. For a bird cannot see the color of our skin, why should it matter so much to us? This is another example of the powerful imagery of this scene. If this “noble experiment” that Rickey and Robinson have begun succeeds, one day the whole country will be able to look at a ballpark and see fans, umpires, coaches, or players. Nothing about the color of the skin of each different piece will matter, only the result on the field.

[6] The next close up is of Branch Rickey and his assistant, Harold. Rickey, the proud architect of what is about to occur on the field, has his head held high as he belts out the national anthem. To him, this moment is exactly why this country is so great. Today everyone is going to put aside their differences and play ball. He sees only the positive in what is occurring and feels a great sense of pride because of what he has done to make it happen. Unlike many owners today, Rickey is consistently shown sitting alongside the fans in the general sections. He is thus able to feel what the game is like from their perspective and see it as they do. Further, this is the crowning moment and something he has been working towards for the previous two years. Looking on like a proud father would as his son makes his Major League debut, he can see only hope. As he would later state, “another opening day Harold, all future, no past.” Yet the other portions of the scene would question that statement. Is there really no past for Jackie? Is the future of this experiment going to succeed and actually accomplish anything? Rickey’s hypothesis was that through quality play, both his peers and major league fans alike would eventually accept Robinson. Yet, the camera in this scene seems to be telling a different story. In contrast, Harold is visibly shaking. We can see the nerves on his face, in his eyes, and in his body language. He appears to be afraid of the unknown and is scared of what may happen if Rickey’s hypothesis is proven wrong. There seems to be no repeat step in a social experiment like there may be in a scientific one, and Harold’s body language proves as much to the audience.

[7] Wendell Smith is the centerpiece of the following close up. As he stands in the bleachers, typewriter under his left arm, hat over his heart in his right, he is visibly proud. His smirk is clearly positive, with his chest puffed out and his head held high, similar to that of Rickey. As the close up continues, his body language tells a very different story. It seems the weight of the last year has finally taken its toll on him as his shoulders begin to slump and the proud look gives way to a nervous straight-faced glare. Continuing through this emotional rollercoaster, his mouth opens, his thumb nervously begins to tap on his hat, and his breathing quickens. You can tell his heart is pounding out of his chest in anticipation for what is about to take place on the field. He understands the momentous events that are about to occur and has lived with Robinson through many of the struggles of his minor league season. Having so much of himself wrapped around Robinson’s success or failure, he is pulling almost as hard as anyone for him to succeed. The unfortunate part for him is that he is completely helpless watching from the stands. He can do nothing but applaud, which is visibly terrifying for him and is causing the stress to creep through his body up onto his face.

[8] A pan of the crowd ends with the final close up, once again on Rachel and the baby. Similar to both Rickey and Smith, she initially looks proud and hopeful. This initial feeling gives way to a nervous deep breath and a glance down at her feet. She becomes unsure of what will happen in the coming hours and comes to the realization it may not be a positive outcome. This scares her and that fear begins to take over. Yet she does not let the fear win, and she quickly realizes what she’s allowing to happen and returns the proud look to her face and resumes her eye contact with the flag. The strength she has shown through the turmoil is the main idea Hegeland portrays to the audience here. Robinson alludes to this many times throughout his book and acknowledges Rachel as most “important to my success” (xxiv). “She has been strong, loving, gentle, and brave” throughout his career and especially in the beginning as she “shared those difficult years that led to this moment” (xxiv). Strength and bravery are the two adjectives that Robinson uses over and over again to describe his wife, and in this scene Helgeland, for however brief a time, wants the audience to see the inner strength she both had and gave to him. It is hard not to notice the white spectators surrounding Rachel. They all seem to be very content as they rhythmically move or hum along with the anthem, just another day at the park for them. Reaffirming the fact that it is anything but simply another day for Rachel and the Robinson family.

4) Free to Play Ball

[9] The final step of the sequence is the shot of the long line of Dodger players. We have to look down the entire line before spotting Jackie at the end. He sticks out as the only black player in the line up, yet the way they are angled down the first base line makes it difficult to spot him. For a quick moment he may be just another player because the viewer must search to find him, but, once found, it is clear he is certainly not just another guy. The camera moves purposefully down the line of players, looking for Robinson. We see white players, heads held high, hands over their hearts, staring off into the distance, presumably at the flag. Next to Robinson, Ralph Branca is proudly singing and the audience can prominently hear his voice alongside the stadium-wide tune. Yet it fades off as the camera makes its way to a full frame view of Jackie as the anthem is concluding. Helgeland makes it no secret what he is trying to say with this final portion of the scene. He seems to be screaming at the audience as the camera sees only Robinson and the only dialogue to be heard is “the land of the free and the home of the brave.” Knowing what we know, seeing what we see, how in the world, Helgeland questions, can we mindlessly sing the United States as the land of the free. While it is certainly home to many brave men such as Jackie Robinson, it is in no way free, and the abuse he has taken thus far in the film portray that fact. Robinson, of course, is not singing, for he “cannot stand and sing the anthem” or “salute the flag,” for he knows that he is “a black man in a white world” (xxiv). This realization is clear on his face as the song concludes. Robinson has taken all of the abuse, has not let it bother him, has successfully broken baseball’s color barrier. He was not born to his freedom. The anthem does not come instinctively to his lips. He will not be a hypocrite. All of the talk and actions of others is now behind him, and the only thing he has left to do is perform on the field to prove them all wrong.

[10] Thus, he grits his teeth, puts his cap on, and as the umpire yells “play ball,” he heads to the dugout to do just that.

Comments

Billy Oppenheimer 4/4/16

I really like these observations and how Ty describes the four stages of this scene and their significance. In the portrayal of Jackie Robinson’s first game in the MLB, Helgeland makes a conscious decision to focus on the events that lead up to the game. In fact, there is only one play showed from the actual game: Robinson’s first at bat, a hard-hit grounder down the third base line in which Robinson is clearly safe but the umpire calls him out. The Dodgers first base coach argues the call, but Jackie keeps his cool, staring down the ump as he jogs to the dugout. A white player surely would have given the umpire an earful, letting him hear about the horrible call he just made, but there was more at stake for Robinson than to be called safe on an infield single. Yelling and making a scene would validate to whites that blacks don’t belong. As Dodger’s owner Branch Rickey tells Jackie when he first brings him into his office, “they [whites] are going to do anything to get you to react. Echo a curse with a curse and they’ll hear only yours. Follow a blow with a blow and they’ll say the ‘Negro lost his temper, that the Negro does not belong.' . . . We win if the world is convinced of two things: that you are a fine gentlemen and a great baseball player.”