His characters aren’t quite as compelling as Sorkin’s, but they express themselves beautifully. This and other key moments play like classic Aaron Sorkin scenes, blending the inside-baseball insights of “Moneyball” with “The Social Network”-style power games. Jordan’s genius on the court practically goes without saying, and yet screenwriter Alex Convery shrewdly decodes the 21-year-old’s potential, spelled out after Sonny studies tape of Jordan’s first year on the University of North Carolina’s team. Never mind that Jordan is an Adidas guy forget that the German company (at which “Air” takes a few sharp digs) can outspend anything Nike offers. But it’s more than a hunch that tells him Nike should invest its entire quarter-million-dollar basketball marketing budget on one player, as opposed to spreading it among several lower-ranked draft picks. 2 reads, “Break the rules.” But in 1984, Nike was a publicly traded company, and boards expect rules to be observed.Įnter Sonny, Nike’s in-house basketball guru, whom “Air” introduces as a betting man: He stops by Vegas after a scouting trip, and loses it all on craps. On the wall of Phil’s office hangs a giant sign listing the 10 rules by which Nike operates. ![]() He waits a beat before responding, as if his attention might be divided between the conversation at hand and a dozen other thoughts. Most corporate CEOs step on other people’s sentences, butting in before their underlings have finished speaking, but not this guy. In a sly move, Affleck casts himself as Knight, playing the OG “shoe dog” as a comic figure with an ill-fitting wig and an aloof sense of timing. Sales were down, and company founder Phil Knight was ready to pull the plug on the entire division. Nike had branded itself as a running shoe company, and no serious basketball player wanted to sign with it. The year is 1984, as an opening pop-culture montage reminds/educates audiences about the early days of the ultra-sophisticated advertising world we now live in: Apple hired Ridley Scott to direct a Super Bowl commercial Wendy’s turned “Where’s the beef?” into a national catchphrase, and sports stars were everywhere from Wheaties boxes to TV commercials. It’s remarkable and fitting that Affleck focuses these negotiations not on Michael Jordan but the woman he trusted most, his own personal “King Richard”: mother Deloris (Viola Davis). Not just basketball, but the whole field of celebrity endorsements. “Air” reveals how an exceptional Black athlete leveraged his talent - and the power of being pursued by a bunch of white men in suits - to change the game. Instead, “Air” ought to be taken as the ultimate example of the American dream, a funny, touching Cinderella story about how the third-place sneaker brand wished upon a star, and how that man - and his mother - were smart enough to know their value. But “Air” isn’t about convincing the greatest basketball player in the history of the game to sign with Nike, although a “Jerry Maguire”-desperate Matt Damon - as paunchy, flop-sweating Sonny Vaccaro - might trick you into thinking this is just the (admittedly very entertaining) anatomy of a landmark business deal. ![]() So why does it? In most cases, consumers aren’t simply buying footwear they’re investing in the fantasy of walking in someone else’s shoes, be it a sports star or a personal idol, and the promise that switching one’s kicks has a direct impact on your potential for greatness.Īs the Nike marketing gurus in Ben Affleck’s “ Air” put it, “A shoe is just a shoe until someone steps into it.” If you’ve been alive on earth in the last 40 years, then you already know what happened when a rookie named Michael Jordan let Nike put his name and likeness on its shoes. Sure, everybody needs shoes, but it shouldn’t matter if your choice bears the Nike swoosh, Adidas’ three stripes or the Converse star. ![]() Americans spend tens of billions of dollars on basketball sneakers every year.
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