Will Smith Begs for the Oscar in Misguided "King Richard"

The Man in Black hijacks a worthy story in this middling sports drama.

February 16, 2022

On May 30, 1982, Cal Ripken, Jr. stepped to the plate at Memorial Stadium in downtown Baltimore. It was a duel between rookies: Ripken teeing off for Baltimore, Jim Gott throwing for the Toronto Blue Jays. Ripken struck out and then walked in the 5th and grounded out in the 7th. The Blue Jays won 6-0. It was a game they should have won. Jim Palmer, an all-time great, started for the Orioles against a no-name. Baltimore was one of the league's best offenses; Toronto would finish six games below .500 and last in the division. The Orioles lost that division to the Milwaukee Brewers by one game. If there were losses to ruminate over as they watched Milwaukee march to the World Series, this one was near the top of the list. At the moment, it did not seem so fated. It was just another early-season loss but became something more: not only one of the many reasons the Orioles season came to an end but the beginning of the greatest odyssey in sports history.

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Twelve years later, a player strike cut short an iconic 1994 campaign. Matt Williams was on pace to break Roger Maris’ single-season home run record, and Tony Gwynn could have become the first player to hit .400 in 53 years. The Montreal Expos and Chicago White Sox, an up-and-coming juggernaut and a long-tortured franchise, respectively, seemed destined for the World Series. It was a time of excitement, renewal, and rejuvenation, tearing down the old to usher in the new, and upholding that sacred adage: records were made to be broken.

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The strike changed that. Having overestimated fan loyalty, players faced scorn for expecting working-class Americans to sympathize with millionaires. Immovable in financial matters, owners faced a severe punishment when play resumed the next year: empty seats. Attendance decreased 20% and would not rise to its pre-strike numbers for another nine years. Something had to change. Something had to restore that misty-eyed reverence for a once-hallowed institution. The nation’s pastime was in a Depression of its own making, and only one man could save them: Cal Ripken, Jr.

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On that spring day in 1982, Ripken may have underperformed in a loss, but he began his pursuit of Lou Gehrig’s consecutive games played record of 2,130. It opposed everything the strike stood for and upheld everything we believed the game represented: loyalty, continuity, dedication, and commitment. The contrast between the horrors of '94 and the celebration set to take place at Camden Yards the night of September 6, 1995 was glaring.

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The game had found its savior, the first stone in a foundation meant to renew the game for generations to come. Millions of fans tuned in to ESPN for the broadcast; baseball legends Joe Dimaggio and Ernie Banks were present, as were President Clinton and Vice President Gore. In the 4th inning, Ripken hit a home run off Angels starter Shawn Boskie. When the game became official a half-inning later, he received a 22-minute ovation from the 46,272 people in attendance. For a moment, the game was cured.

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Ripken ended the streak in 1998 at 2,632 consecutive games played. He retired in 2001 as a World Series champion, Rookie of the Year, 2x AL MVP, 19x All-Star, 2x Gold Glove winner, 8x Silver Slugger winner, and a member of the prestigious 3,000 hit club. He was a first-ballot Hall of Fame electee, receiving 98.53% of votes. He was baseball’s “Iron Man,” a cultural icon, and a hometown hero.

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Imagine taking his story and making it about his father.

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King Richard has an incredible story: two young black girls living in Compton whose unmatched talent and steadfast commitment raise them through the junior tennis circuit before they ultimately turn pro and take the world by storm. Although Venus began as the more acclaimed sister, Serena became the superior talent, often ranked as the greatest player in history.

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Still, the two have combined for some incredible achievements: 122 singles titles, including 30 grand slam titles; as doubles partners, they won 14 Grand Slam titles and three Olympic gold medals. By no measure can they be considered anything but two of the premier athletes of their generation, perhaps of all time. King Richard wants to do what many sports parents seek to do: make the accomplishments of the child a product of the parent.

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In fairness, parents make us. As such, we are like them in more ways than we care to admit. Whether smothering or neglectful, ever-present or distant, strict or laissez-faire, we cannot escape the impact our parents have upon us. Richard Williams wanted his daughters to have a childhood but still commit themselves to mastering their craft. No doubt his influence was considerable, but since they perfected it to the tune of over $137 million in prize money, King Richard must convince us following the father is worth a more sizable investment than following Venus and Serena. It fails.

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King Richard is nothing but Will Smith exploiting a Black story palatable to a White audience to win an Oscar. Every step of the film gets imbued with this selfishness, and thus everything it stands for undoes it entirely.

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The movie wants to address race delicately, never directly tackling what it means to be a Black person in a White sport or even a Black person in a White world. We see the family learn of Rodney King, but no perspective changes or dynamic shifts because of it. Richard insists on leaving tennis talk on the court: humility is critical. He will not tolerate bragging and tries to force the girls to walk home to instill this message. It is not uncommon for White people to vilify Black people by exacerbating their actions. Reasonable frustration invokes the “angry black man/woman” stereotype. Flaunting your accomplishments is celebrating for white people but showboating for Black people.

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‍King Richard is willing to toss Venus’ race in the ring when Richard insists she be allowed a normal childhood but employs it selectively. In a television interview, white professionals must recognize the responsibility of managing a Black person’s image, but the why gets left unsaid. More gets said of her being a child, which is true. We have much to learn about how to embrace racial differences while still acknowledging overarching humanity, about the damage done by holding minorities to a standard to which majorities never hold themselves, and King Richard has two women who are a means through which to impart that knowledge. It does not care. It cares only for its star’s chances at the Kodak Theater. No one will walk away from the film understanding what it means for a young Black girl to be and accomplish all that Venus did because King Richard wants to float the idea and have its audience do the work. It thrives on concepts.

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Combined with the focus on Richard, those concepts never access the sisters. Venus’ abilities seem superhuman, almost as if written by a teenager for a creative writing assignment. Long before they understand the effectiveness of realism, they imbue their heroes with every power. Hitters knock 90 home runs, heroes given dominion over all the elements, and life gets lived on a cotton candy cloud. Venus’ 63 consecutive juniors titles seem impossible, but it isn't. She did go 63-0, and the movie would have served itself better by leaning into the sport and the mindset of a champion to establish her greatness. The payoff is Venus, having impressed the tennis world despite losing the match, skipping off with her family past the horde of supporters. The extent to which they adore her, the reasons for that adoration, and the meaning of it as she enters the next phase of her life cannot get captured by a story devoted to her father’s perspective.

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It is even more troubling considering how the film treats that perspective. As with any sports film, the protagonist is always right. He will seek help from whoever can further his daughter’s (and his) cause, but he knows best. He knows the correct stance to use. He knows what tournaments Venus should or should not compete in or whether she should compete at all. Whether with an ideologically contrasting coach or one whose aspirations extend beyond a training center, every conflict ends in victory. He has a vision, and every piece fits perfectly. He has planned the unpredictable, and it shall occur because he spoke it into existence. He has been a coach and a father, but the movie makes him more of a saint, only with enough sass to excuse not bathing him in white light.

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It does not realize that catering to his results-oriented thinking undermines the movie. We interpret them so, but sports are not results-based entities. Yes, it matters if teams or players win or lose. Careers and franchises, achievements and accolades get decided on results, but the journey is about embracing the minutiae of results to reach the desired conclusion. You cannot dwell on losses and expect to succeed, just as you cannot live in the warm embrace of victory and expect to improve.

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Nuance is the creator of progression, just like necessity is the mother of invention. Venus and Serena did not become legends without understanding the specifics of their successes and failures or behaving as though both did not give insight into what modifications were needed. The story of any great athlete rejects Richard’s entire philosophy, and thus King Richard fails. It is his way or the highway, and the movie never challenges whether his way is prudent or the highway is better paved; except, of course, when it leans further into trope.

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Oracene Williams, the sisters’ mother who also coached them in their youth, is the typical sports movie wife. She instigates the dramatic confrontation that clues our male protagonist into his wrongdoings and inspires a needed course correction. She lends perspective on the path to greatness when he can only see the straight and narrow. She insists upon change when circumstances are inconducive to happiness. If the man steps out of line, she stands firm to defend her children. Outside of briefly coaching Serena, she gets no development. It wants her to be more than the pseudo-philosopher matriarch and believes giving her two seconds of agency in a story that does not care for her can evolve her, but it cannot. Even when holding her ground, each conflict gets resolved with ease. Her only effect is when the movie needs to let Venus compete but knows Richard cannot talk himself into reason. Much like everything else, she is merely a device.

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King Richard generally entertains but does not evolve beyond formula. Its familiarity could have been soothing, but it did not deviate from typicality to justify hiding Venus and Serena in the shadows so Smith could whore for a trophy. Some sports films layer their protagonist's journey with past failure but balance their nature and dreams. Others maintain that righteous, hard-nosed facade but make the results of their endeavors more practical and easily traced than just saying something over and over to hypnotize the audience. It is the one job King Richard assigned itself: justify the man for whom you sacrificed his daughters. By refusing to vary its subject or explore its subject matter, it becomes a victim of formula instead of a chemist, adjusting elements to bring something new to the table, or at least something that can help give it thematic heft.

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Cynicism aside, King Richard proves that overthinking is the death of merit. The story of Venus and Serena is theirs and should have gotten told from their perspective. We do not want to view Michael Jordan through James Jordan. We do not want to see Cal Ripken, Jr. through Cal Ripken, Sr. We do not want to view Venus and Serena Williams through the eyes of “King Richard.”