‘Wildcats’ is a bad football movie, but we can still learn from it

To start off, it’s important to note that Wildcats is a pretty crappy movie. How do you redeem nonexistent character development, prolific racism and a totally predictable plot? Simply put, you can’t.

So why bother talking or thinking about it at all? Well, if you’re a Woody Harrelson and/or Wesley Snipes completist, Wildcats marks both of their big-screen debuts. And aside from the fact it’s one of not all that many movies centered on women’s relationship with football (the topic I’ve chosen to explore this week), there are some lessons to be gleaned from its crappiness.

First and foremost among them is how not to talk about race. Wildcats is the inescapable white savior trope at its most superficial. Molly McGrath wants to coach football, not girls track (which she talks about with a grimace normally reserved for rotten food, another issue altogether). When she applies to fill an open JV coaching slot at the school where she works, the head coach instead negotiates a head coaching position for her on the proverbial wrong side of the tracks.

Everyone’s worried: How will this wide-eyed white lady (McGrath is played by Goldie Hawn, after all) fare at the dilapidated Central High School? Just about every racist stereotype is unapologetically employed, from the way the neighborhood looks (fights in the streets, crumbling buildings) to the players themselves. Snipes’ character is an embarrassing caricature of a lothario who talks incessantly about the size of his penis, the Hispanic players don’t speak any English, and the star quarterback, Bird (they couldn’t think of any other nickname?), is a hustler who only McGrath can “save” from a life of crime. In one scene, for example, she’s inadvertently roped into a heist alongside Bird and his friends. While they’re hiding from police in a dumpster, McGrath threatens to scream if he doesn’t agree to join the team — grotesque code for falsely crying rape. They both know, just as the audience does, what the results of that encounter would be.

So what does McGrath actually offer her charges? The movie doesn’t really make that explicit. The Wildcats ultimately beat her former school to win the championship (surprise) with yet another walk-off touchdown — the conclusion of almost every game in the movie.

Her camaraderie with the team doesn’t extend much farther than the scene where she finally gains their respect by betting she can outlast them on the track, and calling them pussies when she does (ha, ha). That becomes their inside joke; the team ultimately gives her a stopwatch engraved with the message, “Coach, we owe you. Love from your pussies.” What exactly they owe McGrath is unclear since her actual coaching and mentorship isn’t depicted in the film once she gets the team to cooperate. For some reason (racism), just showing up is worthy of accolades.

The most honest part of Wildcats is that almost everywhere she goes, McGrath is either sexually harassed, patronized or both. She gets it from all sides: the players torment her endlessly, the coach at her former school has a mostly baseless vendetta against her (because she beat him at racquetball, maybe?), her ex-husband sues her for full custody of their two daughters and her divorce lawyer tells her not to be dramatic (Note to men: never, ever do that!). Her nonresponse to death by a million microaggressions might be the only realistic thing about the movie. But it’s a teachable moment about what women in football face only insofar as it’s a teachable moment about the kind of quotidian sexism women have dealt with forever.

The sole man who treats McGrath like a person is the principal of Central High School, played by the legendary Nipsey Russell. “Dan Darnell [the coach at McGrath’s former school] told me you’re imminently qualified,” Edwards tells McGrath when she shows up at Central. “He also told me it’s your lifetime dream to coach football. If word got around that you chickened out on this job, do you think anybody would ever offer you another chance?” It’s harsh, but they both know that he’s right.

Wildcats has two good scenes. When McGrath’s ex-husband tells her he’s suing for full custody, she launches into a memorable monologue about how she’s long been the only one taking care of the kids — even when they were still together. “Don’t tell me that I’ve lost my grip on reality!” McGrath says. “I can’t lose my grip on reality. I’m submerged up to here in reality!” (Of course, his response is to call her dramatic.)

Earlier in the movie, the team is at McGrath’s house celebrating a victory. It gets pretty raucous, and by the time her ex shows up to pick up the kids, a minor scuffle breaks out. The ex starts yelling at everyone, and when Edwards asks what’s going on, he turns around and punches Edwards in the face.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were one of them,” he says. “I am,” Edwards replies with a sad smile. It’s the most cogent statement in the entire film.