Producers: Peter Sobiloff, Mike Sobiloff, Natalie Metzger and Matt Mille   Director: Sean Mullin   Distributor: Sony Pictures Classics

Grade: B+

Sean Mullin’s documentary about Yogi Berra begins in an air of grievance as his granddaughter Lindsay (one of the prime interviewees, and an executive producer of the film as well as its narrator) describes her irritation—and his as well—over his exclusion from the 2015 “fans’ choice” recognition of the greatest living baseball players; Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Johnny Bench and Sandy Koufax were honored in a lavish ceremony at the All-Star Game that year as Yogi and Lindsay watched from the stands. 

Lindsay goes on to argue statistically that her grandfather definitely deserved to be among the honorees.  And over the course of the film a parade of other voices–Bob Costas, Roger Angell, Vin Scully, Derek Jeter, Joe Torre, Joe Garagiola, Billy Crystal among them—enthuse over his extraordinary accomplishments over a long career as both a player who could hit even terrible pitches and a manager who worked a couple of miracles with teams from which little was expected.  A wealth of archival game footage proves the point, with perhaps the most famous—of Don Larsen’s no-hitter in the 1956 World Series—juxtaposed with the observation that the catcher is like the quarterback of his team, and that only one with an encyclopedic knowledge of the rival team’s roster (and a strong bond with his fellow player) can help guide the pitcher on how to handle each batter.    

As a portrait of Berra as a demonstrably great figure of baseball’s arguably golden age, “It Ain’t Over” is an easy winner.  But it doesn’t ignore the blips.  It enjoys recounting multiple times the still-unsettled debate over whether Jackie Robinson was safe or out when he stole home in the 1955 World Series (Berra, who fumed over the umpire’s call at the time, insisted Robinson was out to his dying day) and spends a good deal of time on Yogi’s self-imposed fourteen-year exile from Yankee Stadium after owner George Steinbrenner abruptly fired him as manager in 1985—through an intermediary, yet.  But Berra was also one of the few players who welcomed Robinson to the major leagues, and they remained close friends.  And when Steinbrenner finally apologized, Yogi came back to the park.   

As to why Berra doesn’t usually get his due, the film offers a few suggestions.  Yogi didn’t look like DiMaggio or Mantle—he was short and squat, looking more like a regular Joe than a muscled athlete.  His enthusiasm made him seem like a big kid, as when he jumped into Larsen’s arms at the conclusion of that no-hitter.  And, of course, he became famous for his Yogi-isms, apparently outlandish quips like the one the film takes as its title—some of which might actually have said.  And, of course, in his post-baseball days he became known not just as an ubiquitous pitchman for products like Yoo-Hoo, but was burdened with the goofiness of the cartoon character Yogi Bear, although creators William Hanna and Joseph Barbera absurdly claimed the name was unrelated to his.  He was turned into a lovable stooge, and the perceived personality overshadowed the talent.

The documentary deals with all this, making particularly good use of the Yogi-isms as a transitional device, periodically putting them beside aphorisms from celebrated historical figures to demonstrate that if you think about it, they aren’t so dumb after all.

That’s connected with the other main element of Mullin’s film—Berra’s simple, genuine humanity.  Using archival material, it tells of his hardscrabble childhood, his naval service in World War II (he participated in D-Day, but didn’t apply for a Purple Heart so as not to worry his mother), his charming love affair and long, happy marriage to his wife Carmen, and his home life with his children and other relatives, who are also interviewed.  An especially poignant segment deals with his tough intervention with son Dale, himself a pro ball player, over his addiction to cocaine.  But space is also found for his membership in Athlete Ally, a group dedicated to fighting homophobia in sports.

In short, Yogi Berra wasn’t just a great ball player, he was by all accounts a great guy, and certainly not the naïve, clownish figure he’s become in the popular imagination.              

So after watching “It Ain’t Over,” which boasts nice newly-shot footage from cinematographers Danny Vecchione, Lowell A. Meyer and Kenneth F. Wales, an agreeable score by Jacques Brautbar and superb editing by Julian Robinson, you’ll probably decide that the sense of grievance with which the film began wasn’t so misplaced after all.  It’s not merely a loving tribute, but a solid argument for setting aside common misconceptions about the man and recognizing how sorely he’s been underrated.  

Producers: Davis Guggenheim, Annetta Marion, Jonathan King and Will Cohen   Director: Davis Guggenheim   Cast: Michael J. Fox, Tracy Pollan, Danny Irizarry and Hannah Galway   Distributor: Apple+

Grade: B+

Oscar-winning Davis Guggenheim’s documentary is a biography of Michael J. Fox, and in terms of covering his life it does a fine job.  Using archival footage, clips, recreations and extended interviews with the actor, along with his voiceover, it gives us facts and pointed observations about his childhood and family, his early struggles breaking into the business, his breakthrough success on TV with “Family Ties” and on screen with “Teen Wolf” and especially “Back to the Future,” and the stardom that followed in both comedy and drama, including his return to television in “Spin City.”  It also traces his personal life—the excesses that came with fame, his marriage to actress Tracy Pollan, and the family they’ve built together.

But Fox’s life is much more than a conventional career story, and the film acknowledges that from the very start, beginning with a recreation of an episode from 1991, when Fox (played, according to the credits, by Danny Irizarry), awakening after a night of celebration, notices a twitch in one of his fingers.  It was the first sign of what would be diagnosed as Parkinson’s disease.

There followed seven years during which Fox continued working in films, concealing his illness by taking pills that increased the dopamine in his system and obscuring the tremors with bits of business.  In late 1998, however, with the symptoms worsening, he revealed his condition and cut back significantly on his acting, though he periodically took roles until announcing his retirement in 2020.

“Still” is utterly forthcoming about Fox’s battle with Parkinson’s, the effects of which are evident in his conversations with Guggenheim, along with footage of his work with therapists (including a speech therapist, who’s shown making suggestions as he records audiobooks of his memoirs) and of his daily routine (in one example of which, toward the start, he takes a fall on the sidewalk; in an interview segment, a gash on his forehead, caused by another accident, is being treated).  (The director of photography is C. Kim Miles, and the cinematographers Julia Liu and Clair Popkin.)

Yet throughout Fox maintains an upbeat attitude, joking about his stumbles (saying to a passing young woman, after that sidewalk fall, “You knocked me off my feet”) while treating his illness as an obstacle to be dealt with rather than an occasion of depression.  His appearance is altered, of course, but he retains the charm and exuberance that made him a star in the eighties and beyond.  And, as the film also shows, he’s used those qualities tirelessly as an activist and philanthropist to promote medical research on Parkinson’s.

Yet the film isn’t hagiography.  Fox is open about how, especially during the nineties when he was hiding his symptoms from the public and his co-workers, he was an absent husband and father, and drank too much.  

And while the material itself is straightforwardly biographical, the presentation is imaginative, making “Still” engaging for its style as well as its content.  Guggenheim and Harte employ recreations, but intercut them with cannily-chosen clips from Fox’s movies and backstage footage in which he can be interpreted as doing the very things he’s talking about.  The segment describing his frantic back-and-forth trips to make “Family Ties” and “Back to the Future” simultaneously is only one example of the tactic.

That segment also encapsulates the title.  Parkinson’s has literally made Fox a man in constant motion—it takes such effort for him to control the tremors that doing so makes it virtually impossible for him to do anything else—but the film demonstrates that even before the disease struck, he was always rushing about in a mad dash, desperately trying to make it as an actor and, once he’d succeeded, barely ever pausing to catch his breath before the illness forced him to.  (He observes that he couldn’t keep still even before it became physically impossible for him to do so.)  Of course the title reminds us that though Parkinson’s has kept him out of the limelight as far as acting is concerned, he remains with us, a living symbol of triumph over adversity. 

And his sense of humor persists to the end.  When asked what he thinks he’d be like twenty years from now, he remarks “either cured, or like a pickle.”                   

Topped off as it is by a multifaceted score from composer John Powell, “Still: A Michael J. Fox Movie” is, as you’d expect, inspiring, but it’s also stylistically impressive—and enjoyable.  And it makes you think how much you miss seeing Fox on the screen.