Sure, sports fans are starving for anything new. Games went away March 11th on all levels and aren’t coming back anytime soon. How many Brewers Classics can one watch or listen to the interim? How many grainy old NBC “Games Of The Week” can a single set of human orbs absorb?
Enter “The Last Dance” on ESPN, the retelling of the Michael Jordan Bulls.
The ten part series wraps up Sunday night, May 17th, at which time director Jason Hehir’s work gets added with finality to the piles of books and miles of tape expended on said subject. Then begins the debate among teammates, victims of Jordan’s on-court excess, fans and paid talking heads as to its virtues: did it do the subject justice? Did M-J get a pass because the fate of all those hours of behind-the-scene footage was his to decide? Or did Hehir spin a complete and honest tale that both restates the greatness of the man while honestly exploring flaws, real and imagined?
Since two more hours have yet to be aired, it’s too soon for the jury to render a verdict. Of course, that’s not to say the judging hasn’t already begun. Remember, the sports world went on hold two months ago today as of this writing. There’s only so much pit-spitting and cornhole on ESPN Ocho for one to care about.
There are takeaways to be had, though, most obviously the one about being careful what you wish for, the tired but true moral of seemingly everyone who comes from humble beginnings only to have previously unknown/unseen talent make itself obvious, to the point where greatness can no longer be denied, the holder no longer able to be protected from its pitfalls. It wasn’t easy being Michael Jordan–Hehir makes that abundantly clear, early and often–yet Madison Avenue told us to be like Mike ad nauseum.
Which leads us to another obvious point: pre-fab images are just ripe for a tear-down. We love nothing more to build someone up and to watch them win before the not-so-subtle pivot kicks in and we yearn to see them deposed or even debased. “The Last Dance” expends a lot of energy on the liberation that Jordan drew from the controversies that accompanied his success, if having an adult life is to be considered debatable. A buying public schooled into believing that M-J spent his off-game moments constantly working on his jump shot while glugging Gatorade and downing McDonald’s was shocked, shocked I tell you, to find out those hands that could do so much with a basketball also loved to hold a hand or three of blackjack. And that mouth? Sure, it dug on sports drinks and trash talk but it didn’t mind the occasional adult beverage, either, not to mention a big ol’ cigar where that Quarter Pounder would otherwise go. Then comes Sam Smith’s “Jordan Rules,” the tell-all that reveals to the horror of the masses that our star swears and is tough on teammates, to the point of being downright abusive. The doc uses the word “a–hole,” and it’s not a stretch of the term by most definitions.
A work of such length, complexity and density is destined to generate questions. complaints and discussion as to what made the cut and what didn’t. There’s the inevitable “puff piece” take, that Jordan’s invisible hand steered the show toward smooth waters, avoiding choppy seas and brushing off the uncomfortable. Director Jason Hehir tells Peter Kafka’s “Recode Media” podcast M-J had “theoretical” control over the proceedings in that, if he wanted to, he could’ve pulled himself from the project or spike a topic he didn’t like by virtue of his all-access deal with the NBA. Jordan never did. Ask me whatever you want, Jordan said, when they sat down for what turned out being eight hours of chats. The director equates Jordan with the supermodel who’s beauty is so intimidating that no one dare ask her for date, even though she’d probably say “yes” if someone finally did. He thinks no one ever actually approached M-J about things good and bad until now.
Gambling. A supposed disengagement from politics/race. Dad’s death, and the rumors that Jordan’s gambling might’ve played a role in same. Those aren’t puff, unless you use steel wool as a wash cloth in the shower. Was the probe as deep as it could’ve been? The dad/murder conspiracy trash is just that–the argument could be made that such drivel got too much attention–and Jordan damns himself with his own feeble defense of his gambling, citing the fact he still has his wife and kids as proof the hobby is just that and nothing more. Then again, it’s his money and time. No, M-J wasn’t a social champion the way Muhammad Ali was. Does his check to a black Senate candidate running against Jesse Helms relieve Jordan of a larger obligation? Hefir lets the viewer decide.
Critics ask, “What’s with that goofy timeline?” and the way “The Last Dance” vaults between decades, leaving a less-than-rapt viewer wondering just which one of the Bulls’ six championship seasons Hehir is dealing with. This isn’t a work for anyone with a short attention span or a cellphone in hand. Every word and frame is there for a reason, Hehir telling Kafka he was hard pressed to get all he wanted to say to fit in each of the ten 50 minute segments. Fun fact: he originally thought he could tell the story in four. ESPN pushed for eight before announcing at a news conference that it would run ten, apparently without telling their director. To do it chronologically, Hehir says, would’ve meant having to start with the birth of coach Phil Jackson in the 1940’s, a lift he never seriously considered.
Early installments had little to do with “The Last Dance” and dealt almost exclusively with everything that led up to that final title run. It had to, because its a doc with a lot of constituencies to satisfy: the “olds” like me who lived through it all but don’t remember the fine points, the folks who came into the run when their NBA appreciation was in its formulative stages. and those who don’t know a basketball from a pumpkin. As the series reaches it’s finish, it’s obvious why Hehir took the approach he did, the series now zeroing in on the end, one many of us can’t wait to see play out next Sunday night even though we know how it finishes.
“The Last Dance” isn’t just about the end of of team. See all those newspapers the players are reading? There aren’t many computer screens and the no one’s distracted by an Android or Apple phone. Players could be themselves off the court because the “gotcha” world of cellphone video was still a way’s off. An era was ending, when players could limit access. Jordan could hide on the golf course–and it took a New York newspaper to rat him and his dad out when they went to a casino the night before a playoff game against the Knicks. Today the web would’ve collapsed onto itself with breathless social media accounts of every snake eye and boxcar.
A last dance, indeed.
Hehir may not be serving up the definitive work on Jordan and the Bulls, but it’s a solid start with footage no one else on the planet has. The esteemed Ken Burns made news last week, quoted as saying “The Last Dance” couldn’t be journalistically sound because the subject had control over the project, something Burns said he couldn’t do. Burns doubled back with Hehir afterward, explaining that he couldn’t have done the Jordan piece legally or realistically at PBS because his deal prevents underwriters who are remotely connected with a doc from being involved in the process.
The barren sports landscape needed “The Last Dance.” The story needs another telling, and someone may give it a try when the time is right, when subjects are willing to tell more than they said this time around, if indeed there’s more they have to say. Hehir did something I didn’t think anyone on this planet could ever do–he made this life-long Milwaukee Bucks fan care about the Chicago Bulls, and do so eagerly every Sunday night for the past month. One of the measures of a great storyteller is to make someone who cared little about his/her subject matter cry and laugh about the tale being told, to want more by the time the last page is turned before the credits roll. Chances are better than even that, come next Sunday, the end of “The Last Dance” will have many of us pining for an 11th episode.
That’s the best compliment of all.