The Blind Side is a Hollywood version of the book of
the same name about how a wealthy, white, East Memphis family took in a
destitute black kid from the projects, saved him from a life destined
for unrealized potential, and facilitated his rise to college-football
prospect and eventual NFL first-rounder. The young man is Michael Oher
(Quinton Aaron) and the family is the Tuohys — mom Leigh Anne
(Sandra Bullock), dad Sean (Tim McGraw), teenage daughter Collins (Lily
Collins), and son Sean Jr. (Jae Head).
The Blind Side is a deeply flawed account of what happened.
Many of the film’s defects are inherited from the book, though the
movie excels where the book doesn’t, particularly in giving Oher a
voice conspicuously absent on the page. On the other hand, the book
commits to explaining the true tragedy of Oher’s childhood. In the
film, it’s only in hyper-real snatches of flashback.
The Blind Side isn’t a very good Memphis movie. It was filmed
in Atlanta, and in one scene, Leigh Anne is lunching with white,
affluent friends when she asks them, “Have you ever been on the other
side of town?” They reply as if they know exactly what she means, but
of course “the other side of town” isn’t a phrase rooted in the reality
of Memphis.
The mistake is compounded later in the film, when Oher is talking
with old acquaintances in the ghetto and they echo the line, saying
they’ve heard he’s been living with a white lady “on the other side of
town.” It’s all reminiscent of The Rainmaker, which was a good
Memphis movie with the exception of the glaring line “I’ll throw that
damn bottle across Union Street!”
The failing underscores a lack of depth in the film (the book, too).
For a story about the confluence of race, education, money, and sports,
the shades of gray aren’t satisfactorily explored. And for a story
about human gentrification, the personal repercussions are mostly dealt
with glibly and anecdotally.
One football scene is laughably simplistic, with racist white
opponents cheered on by a redneck Beardy McGee in the crowd. Another
troubling scene finds Oher in the den of those leading lives he’s
trying to escape. They’re drawn as dark grotesques who confirm the
worst of white-flight-suburban fears of the urban Other.
And then there’s the ever-sticky question about the purity of motive
of those involved in taking Oher — a kid with no hope — to
college and on to the NFL. Leigh Anne stands out as a paragon of right
action. The thing that’s charming about her character is that she’s the
same no matter what the situation is she finds herself in. She speaks
with the same direct, honest, candid manner whether she’s talking to
her husband, a hayseed football coach, threatening “thugs” on the other
side of town, or Nick Saban.
But what about the recruiting battle for Oher? The movie turns to
comic relief, trotting out Saban, Fulmer, Nutt, Tuberville, Holtz,
Orgeron — it’s a montage of failed SEC coaching. What about the
deals that had Oher’s high school coach first taking a job at UT and
then Ole Miss, where Oher wound up? The only package deals hinted at in
the movie have Sean Jr. pressing for kid-daydream perks.
It’s by no means all bad news. Bullock is quite good. I don’t count
myself in the pro-Bullock camp, and the idea of her going blond and
ratcheting up the Southern accent curdles my brain. Well, shame on me.
Bullock turns in a fine performance.
