What football fan can resist the story of Michael Oher, the Baltimore Ravens offensive tackle, who overcame homelessness, abandonment and an inadequate education to become a first-round NFL draftee? What football mom can resist the character of Leigh Anne Touhy, even if played by Sandra Bullock, who took in Oher off the street and treated him like a son? What athlete cannot relate to and embrace a story of one young man summoning the courage and strength to win?
Truth is what gives "The Blind Side" its teeth and bite. Much of the apprehension I had in this season of "Precious," which has made me weary of stories that depict Black mothers as pitiful, was melted away by the time the credits rolled. The treatment of Oher's mother, who was overcome by drug addiction and poverty, is not clichéd or over-the-top. A few brief scenes makes her human and draw our compassion, rather than our disdain or ridicule.
Though told primarily from the perspective of Touhy (unlike the book of the same name by Michael Lewis, who takes an omniscient view of Oher's story and the story of the NFL), the film gives enough space and development to Oher's character so that he remains the center of his own story. Enough of the realities of race, class and gender disparities in Memphis, Tenn. are laid bare to steer the narrative away from the typical: magnanimous, wealthy Whites help poor, hapless Blacks.
But it can't be steered away entirely. At the same time, the narrative has enough balance and Touhy's character has enough grace to show that the giving was a two-way street; she is transformed by her experience of mothering someone else's child from the other side of town as much as he is transformed by getting as leg up in the world. It is a story about racial unity in a country that is still racially divided.
It does not go unnoticed, however, that "The Blind Side" is also a story that becomes a book and a movie when other equally poignant stories never make it to publication or the big screen. Many Black athletes come from extremely challenging situations and members of their family or members of the larger Black community are there to provide some semblance of a safety net. But these stories may not even make the local newspaper--especially these days of vanishing Black journalists.
If I compare the level of promotion that this film has received with the push given to "The Express," which was released about a year ago, there is simply no comparison. "The Express," which told the story (from a Black perspective) of Ernie Davis, the first Black football player to win the Heisman Trophy, came and went at the theaters so quickly that some people thought it was a straight-to-video/On Demand release. What makes the difference? Is it the fact that "The Blind Side" is not considered a "Black" movie and deserves more investment? Is it the fact that the narrative involves Whites and therefore can include a White star (Bullock)?
Again (and again and again) even decent movies like "The Blind Side" reinforce the importance of telling our own stories and having those stories read and seen on the big screen. If movies are creating a reality and history text for so many, we'd better be sure to write our version of that history.