That '70s Drift: Dock Ellis

NO NO: A DOCKUMENTARY (B+) - This lovingly assembled homage to Dock Ellis -- the somewhat militant and heavily medicated star pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the early 1970s -- is a fascinating character study, an interesting time capsule, and a moving tale of friendship and addiction.

Director Jeffrey Radice's fastidiousness pays off in an entertaining trip back to the pre-Free Agent Era to celebrate a unique individual. Ellis famously claimed that he was tripping on LSD when he twirled a sloppy no-hitter (he walked eight and hit a batter) against the San Diego Padres in 1970. He also was a poster child for the Greenies Era, when most players were buzzing on amphetamines; Ellis claims he was never straight for any of his games. Another player from that time suggests that players have always used something -- speed, steroids, HGH -- to either gain an edge or bounce back from a rowdy night before a day game, going back to Babe Ruth's time.

Ellis was a rowdy one from the start, going back to his minor-league days. He chafed against the treatment of blacks in baseball. (He and two black teammates were infamously maced by security guards at Cincinnati's Riverfront Stadium.) He vowed that Sparky Anderson would never start him in the 1971 All-Star Game after another "brother," Vida Blue, had already been tapped to start for the American League; the reverse psychology worked, and Ellis got the nod. He also famously gave up the towering home run to Reggie Jackson in that game. Ellis would respond a few years later when, as a Yankee, he beaned Jackson (then with the Orioles). Ellis also memorably started out a game against the Reds by nailing the first three batters with pitches. When his next pitch sailed over Tony Perez's head, the manager yanked him.

There are plenty more stories. (I didn't mention the hair curlers.) Radice dug through a lot of old rosters to assemble his own roster of talking heads. It is pleasantly free of superstars (no Dave Parker or Pete Rose); instead we get a C-list cast of characters and journeymen, including such blasts from the past as Scipio Spinks, Bruce Kison, Manny Sanguillen, Dave Cash, Enos Cabell, Al Oliver, Steve Blass and Gene Clines. We also hear from ex-wives (who don't sugarcoat the domestic violence); the son of a former owner of the Texas Rangers; director Ron Howard (who included Ellis in "Gung-Ho" in 1986); and -- touchingly -- old pals, some going back to childhood, who pack an emotional wallop.

Ellis himself is featured, in interviews not long before his death. He remains defiant and proud. We get audio of him breaking down as he reads a touching letter sent to him by Jackie Robinson, congratulating him on standing up for himself and other black players and encouraging him to continue speaking truth to power. Radice cements Ellis' close relationship with the legends Roberto Clemente (whose death in a plane crash while on a humanitarian mission stunned the sports world) and Willie Stargell (whose widow participates). He also explores nuggets of history like the day in September 1971 when the Pirates became the first team to field an all-minority starting lineup.

The LSD-fueled no-hitter bookends the film and will hook viewers, but it's the man himself who is worthy of this 100-minute trip down memory lane. And it's the social upheaval of the time that gives the film added gravitas.

BONUS TRACK
The soundtrack features music from Adam Horovitz from the Beastie Boys. Here, from the closing credits, is Mickey and the Soul Generation with "Hey, Brother Man" from the early '70s: