Not just an American pastime

There’s something at the heart of modern American baseball that is deeply troubling and deeply American. What once was a game—enjoyable, simple—is now a valuable commodity, encouraging whole economies to be built around a pastime.

Sugar, the affecting new film from the co-writers/directors of 2006’s Half Nelson, explores this dynamic through the eyes of a young Dominican baseball player who dreams of the big league. His story tells us much about the game—and acts as an indictment of its worst modern properties.

Miguel, or “Sugar” as his friends call him, has a mean fastball. And he should. He’s been honing his skills nearly his entire life, sweating it out in baseball camps owned by Major League teams, all in the vain hope of making it big like Sammy Sosa or Pedro Martinez before him.

The film is about the process of professional baseball, better described as a bloody grinder that chews up and spits out dreams. When Miguel gets called up to the 1-A league team in Iowa, it seems like a good thing. He’s placed in a farmhouse with a strict family, the type who love Jesus, baseball and nothing else. He works hard and has early success. Sure, there are very few people who understand his Spanish and he’s lonely, but his teammates get him on a level higher than language. Plus, he’s winning.

Then he gets hurt. This seems like a small setback, but as cuts from the team come swift and quickly, he worries. His recovery is slow and incomplete, pushed in the wrong direction by a brief stint with steroids. I won’t say how Miguel’s career ends—that decision is the movie’s apex—but, needless to say, dreams don’t come true.

The directors’ decision to focus on Miguel’s internal plight makes Sugar unlike any other baseball movie, and better for it. There’s no rote dramatization here, or an overcoming adversity to win a game. Instead, we see the loneliness and isolation of a man bred to be a ballplayer and nothing else in a country that values his talent as idle entertainment.

Keeping in that fashion, Sugar features no exciting baseball action set pieces. While the game is shown, it’s the other details—especially Miguel’s expressive face—that get the most lens treatment. Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck have crafted an existential drama around the game of baseball, not about it.

First-time actor Algenis Perez Soto, born in the Dominican Republic and former baseball hopeful, impressively carries the weight of this film in the title role. His natural and fluid movements fit. More importantly, his silent and emotive expressions communicate volumes in a screenplay that is light on dialogue.

Visually, Sugar follows the quiet eloquence of the film as a whole, with simple handheld setups capturing the essence of experience. This general understated aesthetic is also the film’s greatest weakness, as certain portions—the end of the film when Miguel is completely alone in New York—feel a tad ponderous.

If I’ve made Sugar sound like a baseball movie for people who don’t like baseball, well, that’s because it is. But there’s also something of value here for people who love the game, or more accurately, a different perspective, one that isn’t romantic or sentimental.