Nolan Ryan is one of the more divisive players among baseball analysts. On one level, his play and statistics are awe-inspiring: he accumulated almost 1000 more strikeouts than anyone else, threw seven no-hitters and was probably the hardest-throwing pitcher to ever play the game. But on another level, his play and statistics are less than great: he accumulated almost 1000 more walks than anyone else, never attempted to hold baserunners and led the league in wild pitches six times. He is impossible to analyze or rank on all-time best lists. He was barely a pitcher at all—he was more of a thrower—but he did have that beautiful curveball, which suggests some dedication to a sense of craft. He is an enigma, analytically, making him very polarizing. Some think he is among the greatest of all time, while others argue he’s not even in the Top 20.
Until the very final title card before the credits roll, the documentary profile Facing Nolan completely ignores all of this ambiguity. It is an unqualified paean lauding Ryan as a record-breaking, ultra-competitive force of utter domination. None of those interviewed, including pitchers like Randy Johnson and Roger Clemens and some random Texas-famous sportswriters as well as a certain mass-murdering psychopath who also famously loves baseball, George W. Bush—seem interested in taking a critical approach to Ryan’s career. There is nothing wrong with celebrating Ryan. His incredible fastball velocity, tough persona and longevity make him an all-timer and certainly helped draw thousands of children into baseball as both fans and players (this reviewer among them). But it does not make for a good film.
Director Bradley Jackson misses out on a number of worthwhile ways to approach Ryan’s career. Nolan spearheaded the growth of exercise science and fitness related to baseball and pitching. He went on to become a baseball tycoon after his playing days ended. And his approach to pitching was wholly singular: he did not bother with fielding, holding runners, perfecting his third pitch or reigning in his lack of control. At best, Facing Nolan mentions these things. Yet it fails to explore these topics in any kind of detail.
The fundamental flaw here is not the lack of a critical gaze; no, the real issue is the complete lack of curiosity about its subject. Even the title is a misnomer: almost no one is interviewed to discuss what it was like to face Nolan as a hitter. The film also never asks what it was like to play with Nolan, the all-time leader in strikeouts, walks and fewest hits allowed; being a fielder playing behind him, particularly in an outdoor stadium in Texas in the summer, with no balls put in play, must have been extreme. His teammates mainly just stood in hot uniforms boiling in the southern heat while Nolan worked without needing their intervention. Facing Nolan does not seem to think this merits any kind of investigation.
The documentary has other issues, too, related to craft rather than approach. Facing Nolan, for its first half, features a very odd, slow-motion-style reenactment, sort of, of Nolan’s big moments. These are terrible scenes that offer nothing of aesthetic or informational value. They are also completely abandoned about halfway through, for seemingly no reason. Even worse, certain moments in the film feature the hokiest narration, with the narrator playing up a terrible “homespun” Texas accent, all to say nothing of value. The narration is not needed and it is done poorly.
For lovers of sports documentaries, Nolan Ryan or exaggerated manifestations of that annoying-to-the-rest-of-us Texas persona, Facing Nolan is a tolerable way to pass a hundred minutes. But it doesn’t try to make anybody else care.
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