THE SPY BEHIND HOME PLATE (Kempner, 2019)
In Theaters, Release Date May 24, 2019
Review by Christopher S. Long
There may be no more common commodity
in the history of baseball than the backup catcher who can't hit a
lick. Catching's hard work and every team needs some poor shnook who
can give the real catcher a rest once a week. Just flash the right
signals, tell the pitcher “Attaboy!” every few innings, and try
not to ground into a double play every time up. OK, maybe the job's a
bit tougher than that, but the point is that expectations are
generally pretty modest, and every team churns through a vast and
mostly interchangeable supply of supporting players over the years.
The rare balsa bat backstop who becomes
a legend, though, is someone to cherish. Baseball fans throughout the
land still venerate the great Bob Uecker, proud owner of a .200
career batting average. Uecker's only big hits were against himself:
“I had slumps that lasted into winter” and “When I looked to
the third base coach for a sign, he turned his back on me.” Uecker
parlayed his futility into a thriving brand that extends from the
broadcast booth to Miller Light and even “Mr. Belvedere.”
Catcher Moe Berg also couldn't hit and
boy could he not run. He spent most of his 15-year major-league
career (starting in 1923, ending in 1939) on the bench, and never
snagged his own sitcom or even a beer commercial. So why are we still
talking about him today? Well, there was that time he almost
assassinated Werner Heisenberg...
But let's start at the beginning, since
that's what director Aviva Kempner does in her new documentary “The
Spy Behind Home Plate” (2019). Moe Berg was born in 1902 in Harlem
to a working-class Jewish family. His father Bernard was a self-made
man, a pharmacist who mapped out futures for his children as doctors,
lawyers, and teachers. Baseball player was definitely not on the list
of acceptable careers, and Bernard never changed his mind about the
disreputable nature of the game, not even when baseball helped open
the doors to a Princeton education for Moe at a time when few Jews
were admitted to the Ivy League. Heck, not even when the major-league
Brooklyn Robins came calling for young Moe's services with the idea
of appealing to Jewish fans in New York.
Kempner's film brings young Moe Berg to
vibrant life in these early segments, portraying him both as a rebel
in his own family and as a pioneering Jewish athlete, who combined
brawn, carefully groomed good looks, and brain. And oh what a brain.
I don't want to traffic in lazy stereotypes about the intellectual
capacity of professional athletes, but it's safe to say that only a
few baseball players ever learned how to speak Sanskrit. As well as
French. And German. And Hebrew. And Latin. And Yiddish. And Russian.
And... Well, as one of his fellow players quipped about Berg, “He
spoke a dozen languages. And couldn't hit in any of them.”
Berg's inability to grasp a bat as
effectively as foreign syntax didn't prevent him from gaining a
considerable reputation in the game for his glove and his savvy, a
reputation that would assure him a decade and a half on an active
roster even though his managers seldom saw fit to play him in an
actual game. It also netted him a spot on the All-American team sent
on a good-will tour of Japan in 1934, alongside luminaries such as
Jimmie Foxx, Lou Gehrig, and Babe Ruth.
Berg used the long cruise to brush up
on his Japanese and also to hit on Ruth's 18-year-old daughter,
Julia. He also brought along a hand-held Bell and Howell camera which
provides us our first answer as to why we're still talking about the
kid who couldn't hit. Berg remained in Japan for a while after his
teammates returned to the States, and while exploring, he also took
some rather interesting footage of the countryside which he found a
way to sneak home past vigilant authorities. Don't ask how.
Said footage may or may not have proven
instrumental in U.S. war efforts in the following decade, but it
definitely provided a glimpse of things to come. After Berg's playing
career finally petered out in 1939, he soon began a surprising second
career, as an agent for the newly formed OSS, the predecessor to the
CIA. Details about Berg's spy career are understandably hazy and
difficult to confirm, but he was involved in investigating Germany's
efforts in atomic weapons development, which ultimately led him to
attend a lecture in Zurich given by German scientist Werner
Heisenberg. Berg arrived with a notebook in hand and a gun in his
pocket, prepared to complete his mission by whichever means he deemed
necessary. Spoiler, he wound up befriending Heisenberg. Moe just had
a way with people.
Berg's unlikely secret agent career
sure sounds exciting, but the film loses focus during this section.
The unique and inspiring story of the multi-lingual, working-class
Jewish athlete and scholar who embodied the American success story
transforms abruptly into a broad-reaching lecture about the World War
II spy program. Key players like William Donovan (head of the OSS)
are introduced to provide context, but in the process Berg is reduced
to a supporting player of uncertain significance in the grander
scheme.
The generic nature of the WW2 section
prevents “The Spy Behind Home Plate” from being as successful as
Kempner's previous documentary about a Jewish baseball star, the
fantastic “The Life And Times Of Hank Greenberg” (1998). But in
her new film, Kempner still constructs a vivid portrait of a
charismatic figure with no real equivalent in baseball history. You
really can't go wrong with a Sanskrit-speaking Jewish athlete and spy
who is still a disappointment to the father who just wanted him to
become a lawyer. Oh, by the way, Berg graduated from Columbia Law
School too, just as a side gig. Which might explain why he didn't
have any free time left to take a few hacks in the batting cage.
If you want to learn more about Moe
Berg, I strongly recommend Nicholas Dawidoff's 1994 biography, “The
Catcher Was A Spy.”
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