Jesse Owens movie ‘Race’ barely makes it out of the starting blocks

In this era of #OscarsSoWhite, should moviegoers clamoring for diversity be satisfied when Hollywood offers them anything at all? Or is it too much to want those morsels to be better — terrific, even — so that they could actually find themselves in the mix for future Oscars?

Such is the quandary of "Race," the uninspired telling of Jesse Owens' inspirational triumph in front of Hitler and his Aryan sycophants at the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

It's the sort of stand-up-and-cheer story that should have attracted the industry's best and brightest. In the right hands, "Race" could have been a moving tribute worthy of the trailblazing track star. Instead, it comes across as an underwhelming, underbudgeted effort populated from top to bottom with what feel like fourth, 12th or even 20th choices. No rousing epic, it's closer to the feel of a modest TV movie — a la 1984's "The Jesse Owens Story."

"Race" kicks off in the fall of 1933 as young James Cleveland Owens (Stephan James, "Selma") says goodbye to his girlfriend, Ruth (Shanice Banton), and their infant daughter before heading off to Ohio State University.

There, he's taken under the wing of track coach Larry Snyder (Jason Sudeikis), who instantly starts shaping Owens' raw talent for Berlin.

"I heard they don't care for colored folk much over there," a wary Owens says.

"They don't care very much for them here in Columbus, either," Snyder tells him. "That gonna be a problem?"

They don't, and it isn't. Because, aside from some doltish OSU football players, Owens is able to win over most everyone — from the crowd at the 1935 Big Ten track championships in Ann Arbor, Mich., to the 100,000 Germans at the stadium in Berlin — thanks to his athletic prowess.

Rather than taking the time to make Owens feel like a living, breathing person, "Race" expands its focus to the power struggle between filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl (Carice van Houten, "Game of Thrones"), who was chosen to document the Games, and German propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels (Barnaby Metschurat).

But where "Race" really bogs down is in chronicling the bitter campaign waged between amateur sports officials Jeremiah Mahoney (William Hurt) and Avery Brundage (Jeremy Irons) over whether the U.S. should boycott the Olympics rather than risk legitimizing Hitler. Owens himself is conflicted over whether to compete in Berlin, and he's implored by the NAACP to stay home as a show of solidarity with the oppressed Germans.

These struggles make for an interesting side note, but they don't do much in the way of building suspense. "Gee," you can almost hear audience members thinking, "I wonder if Jesse Owens, who famously won four gold medals at the 1936 Olympics, will famously win four gold medals at the 1936 Olympics?"

The press notes boast that "Race" was "made with the cooperation of the Jesse Owens Foundation as well as the Owens family." It shows. As far as faults go, the saintly Owens suffers a momentary case of Big Shot-itis, has a brief dalliance with a woman other than Ruth and drinks a beer. He's so polite, he never corrected the teacher who misheard his given name, J.C., as Jesse, thereby changing his name forever.

Penned by Joe Shrapnel and Anna Waterhouse, two of the six credited screenwriters on the Halle Berry vehicle "Frankie & Alice," and directed by Stephen Hopkins (Showtime's "House of Lies"), "Race" is genial enough. But, much like "42," which introduced a new generation to another groundbreaking athlete in Jackie Robinson, it mostly feels like a Wikipedia entry covering its bases.

"Race" is at its most interesting when it all too briefly looks at the way Owens was received by a segregated America upon his triumphant return. But, just when it finally has something interesting to say, the movie fades to black.

If anything, 2013's bargain-basement "Jobs," starring Ashton Kutcher as the Apple innovator, is proof that Hollywood isn't afraid of a biographical do-over. Last year's "Steve Jobs" attracted the type of A-list talent worthy of Owens' feats.

Hopefully it won't take another 80 years to properly tell his story.

— Contact Christopher Lawrence at clawrence@reviewjournal.com. On Twitter: @life_onthecouch.