Paul  Kengor

The movie's unafraid, unapologetic commitment to faith is splendid. It is commitment, frankly, that risks the wrath of the apostles of American secular culture. This will be the film's highest hurdle in achieving popular acclaim. Hey, so be it.

Yet, what most impressed me was the film’s faithfulness to truth and history.

How many times have you watched a movie intended to inspire, that deals with a certain era, and find no mention of faith? You sense, given your knowledge of the way things used to be, that a church, a minister, a devout parent, a Sunday school teacher had to have been involved somewhere. You do a little research, only to find it was indeed a matter of faith that propelled the hero to greatness. And yet, tragically, the post-modern mavens expunged this “faith angle” from the script. It was just too “religious.”

Instead, then, the final product is, in reality, a deceptive perversion of truth—and not worthy of inspiration. The creators airbrushed the Creator who, in point of fact, made the entire drama possible to begin with. That’s another kind of game: a quite imperfect one, a form of cinematic and historical fraud, produced by a dominant culture that violates trust.

Mercifully, that isn’t what happened with The Perfect Game. Here was a crew—from writers to producers—that spoke the truth. Truth was valued and honored. Whatever else you might say about the movie, from technical merits to some pretentious, impressive-sounding mumbo-jumbo, that’s an artistic achievement as special as a perfect game.