That '70s Drift

A pair of documentaries recalling that depressing era of yesteryear:

THE BATTERED BASTARDS OF BASEBALL (B-minus) - Not the finest technical achievement (by far), but somewhat of a must-see for baseball fans, especially those who came of age during the DH/Free Agent era.

Actor Kurt Russell's dad, Bing, was a fading TV supporting player (he had a recurring role on "Bonanza" for 13 years) when he decided to step in after the Portland Beavers Triple-A club left town. Bing set up the independent Portland Mavericks, the only professional team at the time that was not linked to Major League Baseball's elaborate farm system.

Newcomers Chapman and Maclan Way track down Kurt Russell -- who played for the team between his turns as a child star ("The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes") and his stardom as an unlikely adult action hero ("Escape From New York") -- to wax nostalgic about his big ol' lovable dad and the ragtag group of misfits who made up the A-ball roster. The production values are passable -- the Ways don't try very hard to edit the interviews smoothly, giving them almost a stop-action effect at times, set against plain white backgrounds -- but the story is undeniably appealing. The players took pride in taking on the Major League teams' young bonus babies and giving the upstarts an old-fashioned whipping. (In the Mavericks' very first game, their pitcher twirled a no-hitter.)

This is the team that signed Jim Bouton ("Ball Four") for his comeback. The Mavericks had a left-handed catcher among other quirky castoffs in the twilight of their careers. They set attendance records and came close to winning the Northwest League pennant. They lasted only a few seasons in the mid-'70s, before the big leagues scrambled and brought the Beavers back to Portland to play again in the Triple-A Pacific Coast League.

Even with bargain-basement production values, the documentary exudes a certain charm. The filmmakers do their homework, tracking town old newspaper clips (and the beat writers who generated them) and extensive footage from grainy home movies (some of which seem enhanced to make them seem folksier). In one effective scene, the Ways simply let the archival film show the highlights of the final inning of a championship game, sans narration, revealing the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. They borrow footage from Joe Garagiola's weekly baseball show, in which Garagiola was so enamored of the Mavericks that he devoted two episodes to the team and its fans.

At a snappy 73 minutes, this one goes down easy.

NOTE: This is a Netflix exclusive, available for streaming.

NIXON BY NIXON: IN IS OWN WORDS (B) - As the 40th anniversary of Richard Nixon's resignation approaches, HBO marks the occasion with a detailed review of his White House tapes, letting the man once again hang himself with his own words.

No matter how many times I've heard snippets of the tapes created in the White House between 1971 and 1973, I find excerpts fascinating. This film goes beyond the greatest hits and digs deeper into the archive (the entirety of which has now been released) and scoops out nuggets that many folks have probably not heard before. We listen in on personal calls from wife Pat Nixon and the first daughters, one of whom goes on giddily (Gidgetly?) about the new TV/stereo system that has been set up in one of the rooms (it has a cassette deck!!).

We hear the president, apparently on the fly, warm to the idea of approving Secret Service protection for Edward Kennedy during the 1972 primary season as an opportunity to spy on his arch-enemy and possibly ruin Kennedy for 1976. Nixon goes on, of course, about "kikes" and "fags" among his many other racist, misogynist and vulgar rantings. Jews are natural spies, he warns. Homosexuality is an abomination in his eyes, though his beliefs come off as a bit more nuanced; he says he "understands" that homosexuality is going to happen, but he is chagrined that we as a culture have to hear about it let alone respect or accept it. Newsmen are worse, in his view; he threatens press secretary Ron Ziegler with his job if he dares let anyone from the Washington Post set foot in the White House.

Curator Peter Kunhardt ("Finding Your Roots with Henry Louis Gates Jr.") stays out of the way here, letting his subject's despicable personality unfold before the viewer. (The recordings are presented in chronological order.) The director uses simple, snappy graphics to provide the setting for each conversation and onscreen text to enhance the audio and explain the context of the dialogue. He lets the tape unspool, revealing a typical underhanded policy decision and then invariably follows it up with a press conference or speech to the nation in which Nixon states the opposite, in a continuous stream of blatant lies to the American people.

The viewer might even generate an ounce of sympathy for Henry Kissinger, whose penchant for talking to the leading columnists of the day leads to the bugging of not only Kissinger's office phone but also his home line. Nixon comes off like a mob boss, using the FBI or the IRS as his private street crew, siccing his minions on anyone who crosses him.

We've heard much of this audio before, and we all know this story inside and out, but this package stands out as a revealing snapshot of the man and of an era. This film doesn't run for much longer than an hour, but it's a fresh reminder of the megalomania inside the White House that struck at the very heart of our constitutional system. Kunhardt's presentation is smart and entertaining.

NOTE: This is debuting this month exclusively on HBO.