Concussion is Will Smith’s return to a more solemn role – a homecoming he does every few years after entertaining forays with science-fiction movies (the Men in Black series, After Earth) and underwhelming niche-dramas (Focus, Hitch). It’s a shame, really, because while I find the Men in Black series tremendously entertaining, Smith dazzles in his more serious roles such as Muhammad Ali in Ali and Ben in Seven Pounds. Even though my eight-year-old-self is devastated Smith won’t be in the upcoming Independence Day sequel, my adult self is glad that Smith continues to chose to make high quality films like Concussion.
Smith shines as Dr. Bennett Omalu, an endearing Nigerian immigrant working as a pathologist in Pittsburgh. Omalu is a diligent worker and is slightly quirky – listening to music on his headphones while performing autopsies and talking to his dead patients. He believes that living in America requires you to be the best version of yourself. Omalu’s best self is needed when he discovers a new degenerative brain disease in football players, inadvertently taking on America’s biggest entertainment industry, the National Football League.
The movie conscientiously weaves in the stories of former professional football players who are showing severe symptoms of dementia, starting with Mike Webster (David Morse). Webster was an offensive lineman who helped the Steelers win four Super Bowls in the 70s. He lives in his truck and has already estranged himself from his family. He puts super glue on his teeth and even tasers himself in an attempt to relieve the pain he can’t escape. Webster is essentially patient zero for Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. His cadaver is the autopsy specimen for Omalu’s discovery.
Part-biography and part-drama, Concussion spans many years and as a result struggles to keep the plot succinct in the latter third of the movie. The storyline is still compelling and great acting makes it easy to overlook scenes that feel excessive. Alec Baldwin and Albert Brooks add superb supporting roles as doctors who find the heart to do the right thing, while Gugu Mbatha-Raw is delightful as Omalu’s wife, although her screen time is tragically limited.
Concussion works well as a persuasive piece. The NFL is justly villainized for its failure to address CTE and other scientific data related to head trauma. Each scene adds a layer to the case against football, eventually likening the sport to smoking cigarettes. As audacious as that sounds, the film is downright convincing. According to the movie, 28% of all professional football players will suffer from CTE or other cognitive defects of the brain, and the league is still doing very little to educate its players about the risk. While Concussion doesn’t offer a solution to the problem, it asks all the right questions. With the aforementioned statistic, six of the twenty-two players on an NFL field at any given time will ultimately suffer impaired brain function.
Are we as viewers and fans—I am one—participating in their ruin? Has unrestricted consumerism blinded us to the destruction of grown men and their families? Like smoking and cancer, are violent hits in football an American epidemic? These are questions we all must ask. We would do well to follow the example of Dr. Omalu. When the questions get tough we shouldn’t cower and hide, but instead embrace conflict and conversation. In doing so, we become the best versions of ourselves, which Omalu painstakingly learns, is the true American Dream.
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