King Richard (dir. Reinaldo Marcus Green), 2021

The year of the Biopic. That year most certainly is not 2021. A biopic, after all, is a gentle balance between the faithful and the original. Whereas Spencer, another heavy-hitter biopic released this year, belittles its titular character into an insulting one-note display of mental illness and depression, King Richard feels equally devoid of humanity in the opposite direction. To shield the film from criticism, many have pointed to Venus and Serena Williams’ executive producer credits as a veil of authenticity. However, it is important to understand perspective. King Richard portrays its titular character as God: always perfect, always correct, always all-knowing, (always overbearing,) without ever faltering. And, such a portrayal makes sense with overwhelming input from the daughters of the titular character. A one-note portrayal is incredibly frustrating, however, particularly when spread out over an excessive 150-minute runtime.

In all fairness, the audience knows exactly the type of biopic they’re watching within the opening scene: an overtly hammy Will Smith montage begging bougie tennis pros to coach his two daughters. He leaves the country clubs and ritzy tennis courts to return to a common Los Angeles residential streetscape in Compton. There’s an unnecessary rift between Richard and a neighbor, where he makes a gross comment, meant to elicit crowd-pleasing laughs, about the woman’s daughter working a street corner. Of course, this woman’s daughter must be a prostitute as that’s the only alternative to a tennis champion, right?

Even with a 150-minute runtime, King Richard overly relies on montages to move its story. These montages are drowned out by the overpowering, generic score plucked right out of a 90s sports-epic. This makes sense, as the film is an anachronism that may have worked twenty- to thirty-years ago. However, today movie audiences rightfully want more from a biopic than “my daughters are destined for greatness” with little hurdles in between. Perseverance obviously can be a heartwarming and inspiring theme, but falls flat when the threat of failure is minimal or even non-existent. The racial dynamic and barriers in tennis, not to mention early 90s Los Angeles, are always looming in King Richard but never more eloquently explored. The rare moments when these themes are at the forefront, the film immediately feels more authentic, more moving, and more engaging. This narrative opportunity is another sacrifice to the “always destined for greatness” thread which never quite sews up a convincing film.

If anything, King Richard seems like a mere Oscar opportunity for Will Smith (whose campaign has been equally as annoying as Lady Gaga’s this year). His performance is grossly overdone, feeling like an SNL skit designed to insult Richard Williams rather than a biopic designed to celebrate him. Smith is always on and never feels authentic, rather gearing his performance for what Oscar voters want to see. Aunjanue Ellis, who plays wife Brandi Williams, is able to settle into her role better than Smith but is offered nothing more than being “there.” Some have predicted Ellis as a frontrunner for the Supporting Actress Oscar, which seems more like fantasy than reality. While it would be wonderful to see Ellis finally receive her flowers after twenty-plus years of solid work, she is given absolutely nothing to do in this film. Her maternal warmth is a welcome foil to Smith’s overperformance, but she similarly is robbed of depth. After all, the Williams’ are perfect parents, for their girls who do not wind up tennis superstars instead are top of their classes. Their children are unendingly supportive of one another, with absolutely zero resentment or desire for the fatherly attention that seems unfairly geared for Venus and Serena, even when the quintet are required to move across the country. Of course, no one knows the dynamic of the Williams family other than those who lived it, but there is a lack of inner conflict that seems a given when part of a large family unit.

Ultimately, the film is a stale and predictable portrayal of a story that feels like it should be more nuanced, layered, and engaging. While there is an upward turn when the film follows Venus’ career, that only takes off close after almost two hours when much good faith has evaporated. Will Smith drains the film of any life and, while I rarely like to discuss Oscar possibilities in reviews, it seems impossible to ignore this wrinkle with King Richard as the film appears little more than an attempt for Smith to get his statue. After all, Smith shows up in a buzzed biopic every five years or so, going from Ali to Pursuit of Happyness to Concussion to King Richard, and somehow gets worse with each attempt. Biopics generally are hit or miss, with little in between, and King Richard certainly feels like a missed opportunity.

Rating: 4/10