The evening began with a cocktail party hosted by Graydon Carter (Vanity Fair) and Anna Wintour (Vogue) at Carter’s Beatrice Inn, a popular spot with Manhattan swells and celebrities. It was loaded with sharp-dressed men and skinny blonde socialites in black velvet ankle boots. Not really my scene, but then along came John McEnroe and his wife, singer Patty Smyth. I’d not been introduced to Patty before, but within a minute I felt like I’d known her half my life; she’s just one of those really open, warm people.
John was on hand, along with Billie Jean, mainly to proselytize on behalf of the movie — to do, in the words of McEnoe, “whatever it takes” to broaden the appeal and reach of tennis. Could anyone foresee that McEnroe would become this evangelist, back in those halcyon “pits of the world” or “you cannot be serious!”days?
My, how times change.
And that was evident in the movie itself, which began to roll shortly John and Billie Jean made some fairly lengthy introductory remarks. McEnroe has also become quite the persuasive public speaker.
The movie is excellent (full disclosure: I was interviewed extensively for it, and some of my comments are in the final cut), and surprisingly — and admirably — fair in light of the fact the Baird and Major had the blessing of the Williams family in making it.
Often, that “authorized” imprimatur translates to puffery, either because the principals have editorial control, or the filmmakers/writers are seduced by their co-operative subjects. But Baird and Major did a great job resisting the gravitational pull of the Williams family, and made themselves central enough to their lives that at one point Richard tries to shoo them away, complaining that they’re like an “ex-wife.” The documentary gives the viewer an all-access pass but into the real world of the Williamses, not Candyland.
There are plenty of sweet, heart-warming moments — not all of them built around the easy sympathy and pathos generated by footage of Serena laid out on a hospital dolly, or injecting herself with medication. The scene where the sisters engage in some spontaneous karaoke would make a grump smile, as do the scenes where Serena rolls out her dating preferences (white men, or black?), or where Venus and Serena are asked to number their brothers and sisters.
But the sound bites sometimes have teeth, too. Venus and Serena’s sister Isha bridles when asked about “half-sister” Yetunde, who was shot and killed some years ago in (presumably) a case of mistaken identity. “She isn’t our half-sister,” Isha immediately insists. “We don’t do that half-sister thing. We’re black.” Yet one of the more interesting things about this film, and its subjects, is how small a role race, and racial issues in general, play in the daily lives and actions of the sisters.