With “42,” the issue was how little we got a sense of Robinson’s interiority and subjectivity, of what formative moments in his youth made him the man who would eventually break the sport’s color barrier. Instead, the film provided a fairly cut-and-dry sense of, “baseball would make more money because of integration, and it was right thing to do, so they did it”—a suggestion that capitalism won out over racism. That’s a pretty reductive way to consider our national history, no?
And a similar skimpiness is at play in “Home Run,” which depicts the troubled life of an alcoholic, rage-filled star baseball player who is shipped off to a recovery program to find himself. Through coaching a misfit children’s team and attending meetings of the faith-based Celebrate Recovery program, Cory (Scott Elrod, of “The Switch”) tries to kick his habit by leaning on God and leading his community. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with depicting the hardships we have to go through to make ourselves better; even if you’re not a religious person, there’s an inspirational quality to this film’s tale of self-bettering that could appeal to you. But that suggestion—that you can do right by yourself with hard work and focus—is drowned out by the film’s insistence that Celebrate Recovery is the only way to get there. Twelve easy steps and you can be your best you ever.
But what about redemption and success for people who aren’t Christian? The film doesn’t even acknowledge that possibility; director David Boyd (who served as director of photography on the TV shows “Friday Night Lights” and “Firefly”) and writers Brian Brightly, Candace Lee, Eric Newman, and Melanie Wistar don’t go down that road. They stay very, very focused on Celebrate Recovery, so much so that I researched around before writing this review and tried to figure out if the program had funded the film or sponsored it in some way. I couldn’t find anything, but something about the film’s insistence on this program as the most successful way back to reclaiming your life feels suspect. It feels like money.
“Home Run” focuses on Cory, who as a child was abused and battered by his baseball-obsessed father into being the best. Years later he’s a star athlete, but with major psychological and emotional trauma, issues that alternately (and perhaps equally) fuel his rage and his drinking. After roughing up someone during a game, Cory is suspended, rushed off by his agent Helene (Vivica A. Fox), who promptly ships him back to his small Oklahoma town, where he’s forced into coaching his younger brother’s Little League team as a way to make amends … and get good press. But ultimately, it’s time to face his demons, face his past, and face himself—and to do that, Cory has to accept not only Christianity, but the very specific way that the program Celebrate Recovery uses the faith.
Some things to know about Celebrate Recovery: It was founded in 1991 by John and Cheryl Baker, who wanted a more religious alternative to Alcoholics Anonymous; now, decades later, the very heavily Christ-centered program is hosted in 19,000 churches and organizations across the United States. And, it’s given prime advertising in this film, which suggests that Celebrate Recovery was the only option available to Cory. Really, it’s the only integral personality element that audiences end up learning about Cory—that he’s a member of the program. Other things, like his goals for his life or why he continued making poor choices or his fear of his father’s legacy or his understanding of the battle facing him as a professional athlete—all those kinds of serious, weighty questions are tossed aside for further extolling of the program’s benefits. It’s an uneven, uneasy mix that translates into “Home Run” feeling far more like an infomercial like an actual film, like product placement rather than narrative.
Sure, there’s a romance between Cory and a local widow, and of course, he leads his ragtag group of baseball mentees to friendship and success. I mean, I don’t need to give you a spoiler alert for that—”Home Run” is very clearly the kind of film that will end happily and stably. And that’s exactly why the film lacks stakes and, in a way, believability; the obstacles facing Cory never seem that dire. He never really loses the fame, awe, or adoration that others feel for him, meaning that “Home Run” ultimately feels like a movie that wants to make a big impact but isn’t willing to take the risks to get there. That noncommittal nature, coupled with the film’s insistent promotion for Celebrate Recovery, will keep viewers from truly connecting with what’s happening on-screen—a failure for a movie like “Home Run.”
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