Everybody’d be nice to you if they knew you were dying.
Before 1973, no one had ever heard of Robert De Niro. By the end of the year, his performances in Bang the Drum Slowly and Scorsese’s Mean Streets announced the arrival of a singular talent. Throw in his 1974 role as a young Don Corleone in The Godfather: Part II, and you didn’t have to look too hard to see a legend in the making.
Bang the Drum Slowly is an adaptation of a 1956 novel by Mark Harris. [I’ve never heard of him either.] It’s the story of Henry Wiggin (Michael Moriarty), star pitcher for the New York Mammoths (a stand-in for the Yankees), and Bruce Pearson (De Niro). Pearson is a backup catcher secretly dying of Hodgkin’s disease, Wiggin is the only member of the team who knows, and the movie chronicles Wiggin’s attempts to care for an odd, none-too-bright, disliked member of the ball club as the season wears on, and Pearson’s illness worsens.
De Niro’s performance as the terminally ill Pearson is as advertised, but Moriarty’s turn as Henry Wiggin is beautiful and heartbreaking. I think his performance deserves more praise, overlooked as it is by De Niro’s first starring role.
If you’re like me, you’ll go through most of the runtime thinking, “I know what people say about this movie, but I there’s no way I’m going to cry.” But it sneaks up on you. When the final act rolled around, there was plenty of “I’m not crying, you’re crying!” on sofá de la Small.
The remaining thoughts are spoilery, so if you plan to watch the film eventually, you’ve been warned.
To me, much of this film is about the power of kindness. The kindness toward Pearson — first by Wiggin, and then the rest of the team — is exclusively due to his illness, and yet, it positively impacts everyone involved. Whether it’s Pearson becoming a better hitter once Wiggin takes the time to offer advice, or the team pulling together after they discover the truth of Pearson’s illness, transforming a once fractured clubhouse in the united juggernaut they should have been all along. The acts of kindness lift up both the giver and the receiver.
And can we talk about the end? The team, fighting to let Pearson finish the clinching game, even though at times he can barely stand. They will him to finish, and he has no idea they all know he’s dying. Wiggin, rolling up Pearson’s uniform in the hospital, knowing he will never wear it again. Or Pearson, promising to be ready for spring training on the airport tarmac. And as he walks to board the plane, they shoot the scene from behind Wiggin. He’s stuck on other side of the fence, separated from the friend he’s stayed beside every step of the way; he can’t follow Pearson where he goes next. T-E-A-R-S.
Up Next: I Will Buy You, a Japanese film I discovered by accident while exploring the Criterion site.
