On Love and Basketball

Love and Basketball is what instantly springs to mind if you ask me about my ideal comfort flick, but I'll be the first to concede that originality isn't this movie's strong suite. You don't need to be a connoisseur of romantic dramas to know that Quincy and Monica will have a happy ending, but that's not to the detriment of the film at all. There's a pleasure in allowing the film to hit every expected emotional beat because it does so with such infectiousness. That's all you need sometimes! This is thanks in no small part to its superb leads. Omar Epps is such an effortlessly gorgeous and charming actor who's able to endear you to his character even when he's being a petulant jerk. And it's frankly criminal that Sanaa Lathan didn't become a megastar after this movie. With a film like this that make you fall so easily in love with its characters you don't really mind that you've seen it all before. Who cares about reinventing the wheel when you're doting over how seriously little Quincy takes himself as he asks out the girl who showed him up at basketball (they kiss behind the bush and he counts the seconds down on his fingers, it's so cute!). Or aching at how much you secretly relate to Monica with her discomfort around wearing dresses and makeup even while she desires to embrace her femininity for once. Or fervently rewinding the scene when these two lovebirds, now in their college years, blow off steam with a one-on-one game of strip basketball, a scene which this writer promises to take interest in for reasons that are entirely professional and chaste. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, Love and Basketball hits all the right notes for me. What I've come to appreciate as I grow older is how sharp Gina Prince-Bythewood's direction and script are about class and gender roles and the ways they inform everyone's struggles. Monica is constantly fighting uphill for success, against the pressure to conform to traditional femininity, the sexism women athletes face when their fiery passion on the playing field is construed as aggression, against her fellow teammates willing to tear each other down for a seat at the table. It doesn't dance around the fact that Quincy has a considerable amount of legs up over his peers owing to being both the son of a wealthy basketball star athlete, and - as Monica points out - a man. There is an incredible montage halfway in that serves as a perfect distillation of this dynamic. The intercutting of the two playing basketball juxtaposes Quincy's rise to glory with Monica's relentless struggle. Quincy's athleticism is captured in sweeping wide shots as he scores and scores, to thunderous applause from his spectators in a crowded stadium with cameras and reporters. The noise dims as we cut to Monica practicing by her lonesome in the gymnasium. She's framed in tight close-ups of pushing and tugging and glares from her teammates to accentuate her strain and determination. It's an excellent display of editing and sound design. I would be remiss not to mention Alfre Woodard's performance as Monica's mother, feeling cornered and stuck in an unhappy marriage. It's so heartbreaking when she's asked to iron two shirts because her husband can't make up his damn mind. Her disappointment goes unremarked on, but not unnoticed by her daughters and we're made to sit in discomfort with them. The script respects its audience enough to ask us to read between the lines and think about the thankless labor women perform for their husbands who either don't know better, or simply don't care. The payoff at the end is immensely cathartic when she's finally able to open up to Monica, now an adult, about her unhappiness and gives her daughter the push to do right by herself. I appreciate that the movie truly believes its romance is meant to be and gives us the happy ending, even if the resolution is far too tidy (what happened to his fiancé? Are we just not addressing that?). But it still completely earned because of how much Monica and Quincy struggled to get here. It's a wonderful capstone to a movie that feels like a warm embrace every time I revisit.