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‘King Richard’ Review: Father Holds Court

Will Smith and Aunjanue Ellis play the parents of Venus and Serena Williams in a warm, exuberant, old-fashioned sports drama.

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By A.O. Scott

The climactic scenes in “King Richard” take place in 1994, as Venus Williams, 14 years old and in her second professional tennis match, faces Arantxa Sánchez-Vicario , at the time the top-ranked player in the world. If you don’t know the outcome, you might want to refrain from Googling. And even if you remember the match perfectly, you might find yourself holding your breath and full of conflicting emotion as you watch the director Reinaldo Marcus Green’s skillful and suspenseful restaging.

You most likely know what happened next. Venus and her younger sister Serena went on to dominate and transform women’s tennis, winning 30 Grand Slam singles titles between them (plus 14 doubles titles as a team) and opening up the sport to aspiring champions of every background. (They are credited as executive producers of this film.) You might also know that those achievements fulfilled an ambition that their father, Richard Williams, had conceived before Venus and Serena were born.

In the years of their ascent, he was a well-known figure, often described with words like “controversial,” “outspoken” and “provocative.” “King Richard” aims in part to rescue Williams from the condescension of those adjectives, to paint a persuasive and detailed picture of a family — an official portrait, you might say — on its way to fame and fortune.

In modern Hollywood terms, the movie might be described as a two-for-one superhero origin story, in which Venus (Saniyya Sidney) takes command of her powers while Serena (Demi Singleton) begins to understand her own extraordinary potential, each one aided by a wise and wily mentor. But this is a fundamentally — and I would say marvelously — old-fashioned entertainment, a sports drama that is also an appealing, socially alert story of perseverance and the up-by-the-bootstraps pursuit of excellence.

It’s also a marriage story. When we first meet them, in the early 1990s, Richard (Will Smith) and his wife, Oracene (Aunjanue Ellis), are living with five daughters in a modest bungalow-style house in Compton, Calif. He works nights as a security guard, and she’s a nurse. Their shared vocation, though — the enterprise that is the basis of their sometimes fractious partnership — is their children.

This is an all-consuming task: to bring up confident, successful Black girls in a world that is determined to undervalue and underestimate them. Tennis, which Richard chose partly because of its whiteness and exclusivity, is only part of the program.

The children — Tunde (Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew), Lyndrea (Layla Crawford) and Isha (Daniele Lawson), along with Venus and Serena — lead highly structured, intensely monitored lives. (A disapproving neighbor calls the authorities, convinced that Richard and Oracene are being too hard on the girls.) This is partly protective, a way of keeping them away from what Richard ominously calls “these streets” — a menace represented by the hoodlums who harass Richard and the girls during practice sessions — but it also reflects his temperament and philosophy.

He likes slogans and lessons, at one point forcing the family to watch Disney’s “Cinderella” to teach the importance of humility. “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail” is one of his favorite mottos. There is nothing haphazard or sloppy about “King Richard,” and it succeeds because it has a clear idea about what it wants to accomplish. The script, by Zach Baylin, is sometimes unapologetically corny — if you took a drink every time the Williams sisters say “yes, Daddy” you’d pass out before Venus won her first junior match — but the warmth and verve of the cast make the sentimentality feel earned.

Smith, digging into Williams’s Louisiana accent and mischievous sense of humor, plays the character as a kindred soul of sorts — a charmer with a strategy. The white men who dominate the tennis world see him at first as someone to be brushed off or patronized. Later, when confronted with the undeniable and potentially lucrative fact of Venus’s talent, they are surprised to discover that Richard’s agenda doesn’t always align with theirs. Against the advice of two top coaches, he pulls Venus off the junior tournament circuit. He is unpersuaded by agents, sneaker executives and others who claim to have his daughters’ best interests at heart.

They see him, sometimes with affection, as stubborn and unreasonable, but he’s usually right. The film’s treatment of the coaches Paul Cohen (a suave, tan Tony Goldwyn) and Rick Macci (a manic, mustachioed Jon Bernthal) is gracious and skeptical. They are neither saviors nor villains, but rather men whose stake in the tennis system limits their perspectives. (The white tennis parents, on the other hand, are a pretty awful bunch, encouraging their children to cheat and berating them when they lose.) The coaches can see Venus and Serena’s potential as athletes, but only within the parameters of a status quo that the sisters will soon demolish.

That, too, is part of Richard’s plan. But if “King Richard” were just the streamlined chronicle of his triumph — if there weren’t at least a twinkle of irony in the title — it wouldn’t be convincing. Smith shows his usual, disarming skill at tactical self-deprecation, but it’s Ellis and Sidney who provide the necessary complexity. Venus, after all, is the center of the narrative: it’s not only her career but also her growing independence and self-awareness that keep us interested in what happens next.

And it’s Oracene who stands as the film’s crucial internal critic, the person who can challenge Richard’s sloganeering, bring him down to earth, and point out his failings. At times, this can seem like too much of a burden. Fairly late in the movie, she lays into Richard about his failed business and the children he has had with other women — all of it new information for the viewer, none of it ever mentioned again. The scene is not powerful because it exposes less-than-admirable aspects of Richard’s character, but because it shows how raw, messy and difficult even an apparently functional and harmonious marriage can be. (It also may foretell Richard and Oracene’s eventual divorce, in 2002.)

In the best Hollywood tradition, “King Richard” stirs up a lot of emotion while remaining buoyant and engaging. It’s serious but rarely heavy. Richard’s advice to his daughters when they step out on the court is to have fun, and Green (whose credits include the impressive “Of Monsters and Men” ) takes that wisdom to heart. This one’s a winner.

King Richard Rated PG-13. Brief violence, and some swear words and racial slurs. Running time: 2 hours 18 minutes. In theaters and on HBO Max .

A.O. Scott is a co-chief film critic. He joined The Times in 2000 and has written for the Book Review and The New York Times Magazine. He is also the author of “Better Living Through Criticism.” More about A.O. Scott

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Will Smith’s Performance Makes King Richard Worth Seeing

Some will look at King Richard and wonder why anyone would want to make a movie about Richard Williams, father to tennis gods Venus and Serena, when his superstar daughters’ stories are right there and more momentous. But oblique approaches to well-known tales can have their own value, and it makes some sense here — as the film is less about the father and more about a fraught but loving family relationship at a pivotal time in all their lives. Richard was born and raised in the segregated South, and his journey was a dramatic one. “Where I grew up, Louisiana, Cedar Grove, tennis was not a game peoples played,” he tells us in the film’s opening narration. “We was too busy running from the Klan.” We don’t actually see his past — the film isn’t really a biopic — but we feel it, in the hunched posture, gravelly determination, and oddly deferential hard-headedness with which Will Smith plays him. It’s as if he’s absorbed a lifetime of hurt and hate so that his kids wouldn’t have to.

When we first meet Richard, he’s already well aware that Venus and Serena (Saniyya Sidney and Demi Singleton) are enormous talents. Indeed, it’s all part of his so-called plan, an elaborate, preordained trajectory of how Venus and Serena’s lives and careers will develop. “When I’m interested in a thing, I learn it,” Richard tells us. “How it works, how the best peoples in the world do it. And that’s what I did with tennis, with the girls.” That goes beyond just teaching them skills, however; it also involves breaking into the circuit of big-time trainers and clubs, a world in which a Black family from Compton is a rather rare sight. Wandering into the middle of a practice match between Pete Sampras and John McEnroe, overseen by legendary coach Paul Cohen (Tony Goldwyn), Richard insists that the bewildered Cohen watch his daughters play. Sure enough, within a few minutes, Cohen has taken on Venus as a student for free. (He can’t teach both kids, however, so Serena — who would, perhaps ironically, go on to become an even bigger tennis champion — has to stay home and continue lessons with her mom, Oracene, played by Aunjanue Ellis.)

Directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green, King Richard bounces along briskly through its somewhat predictable plot points. Cohen tells Richard that to get noticed, Venus needs to participate in junior tournaments. Soon, she’s destroying any and all opponents, leaving her young rivals and their parents angry, humiliated, and questioning their decision to play this sport in the first place. Richard loves to talk about his aforementioned plan as an iron-clad thing, but there seems to be more improvisation and backpedaling than he lets on. Despite Venus’s astounding success in juniors, Richard becomes convinced that the relentless grind of the circuit will psychologically ruin his daughter. So he changes coaches — to Florida-based Rick Macci (Jon Bernthal, doing a perfect impression of just about every other adult I met in the 1980s), whom he hopes will train Venus without the immediate promise of competitive glory.

Of course, Richard’s decisions about doing what’s best for his daughters never actually seem to involve his daughters, or Oracene, despite the fact that she appears to have been just as instrumental in helping the girls develop their skills. That’s not the only fundamental, or obvious, inconsistency in his approach. He wants the girls to enjoy their childhoods, and to not become victims to expectations and pressure — and yet he’s harder on them than just about anyone else. We find a perfect example of this in a scene when Richard makes the whole family sit down and watch a VHS of Disney’s Cinderella ; when he feels that the kids haven’t gleaned the right lessons from the movie, he makes them watch it again. The film wants us to feel love for this man, sure — but maybe a little terror, too. (Venus and Serena are producers of the film. Richard himself was reportedly uninvolved, and even reluctant.) We understand that, for all his wisdom and his dedication to the girls, there’s a slightly tyrannical streak to this man, a refusal to entertain opposing views. He wants his daughters to be kids, but he himself, it seems, has forgotten to be a grown-up.

There’s pathos here, too. And that’s where having Will Smith pays the most dividends. Because he is also such a huge movie star, we often overlook the actor’s transformative capabilities — as evidenced in previous films like the sublime Ali and the not-so-sublime Concussion . His performance here is not a full-on impersonation, as far as I can tell. Instead, he seems to have brought his own poetic physicality to the part. He plays Richard as a rough, gruff man, his bearing nearly collapsing under all the responsibilities he’s put on himself. It’s a touching turn, but not a particularly surprising one, thanks to a pro forma script that telegraphs all its big moments and rarely tries for the unexpected, keeping all its key emotional beats to the level of incident and dialogue — which feels like a bit of a waste when you have as dynamic and versatile a presence as Smith.

Still, when King Richard works, it sings. During one teary, late-night confessional, Richard tells Venus of a time when, as a child in Shreveport, he was beaten in front of his father by a group of white men for accidentally touching one of them. He recalls that his dad just ran away from the scene, ashamed and unwilling to help. So Richard has made a promise to himself. “I never want you to look up, and see your dad running away,” he tells Venus as he chokes back tears. When the girls are competing, however, we do see him turn away, keeping his head down or off to the side — as if, for all his outward confidence, he can’t bear to watch what happens. During a climactic match between Venus and Arantxa Sánchez Vicario, he’s out by the locker rooms, wandering the corridors, watching on TV, anywhere but in the stands. Earlier, we’d seen him bemusedly watching the aggressive parents of Venus’s (usually white) rivals petulantly yanking their kids away after their losses, as they loudly complained and dismissed their second- and third-place trophies. Richard may not be one of those outwardly hypercompetitive adults, but he’s not entirely free of his own fears and weaknesses either; he’s merely internalized it all. So that when he does take his seat in the stands — as he must — we understand that his daughters’ accomplishments will liberate and lift him as well.

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Will Smith Makes a Racket as Venus and Serena’s Dad in ‘King Richard’

By K. Austin Collins

K. Austin Collins

In his 2014 memoir Black and White: The Way I See It , Richard Williams — father of tennis legends Venus and Serena and a noted celebri-dad in his own right — tells the story of the lynching of his childhood best friend, a boy his age named Lil Man.

This was in Shreveport, Louisiana, in the 1950s. His was an impoverished but eventful life, as Williams describes it, marred by his father’s emotional abandonment and by the racism of the era, but brightened by Williams’ sense of duty to his mother and sisters. He spent his adolescence tending to a produce garden in his family’s backyard, going so far to hire employees — loiterers he paid to stalk street corners and drive business his way. Whatever produce they didn’t have to sell, Williams stole from white vendors, passing it off as his own stock. Reckless? Heroic? He was a young Black man whose father, in the memoir’s telling, “put me way behind the starting line in the race of life.” The race of life : a phrase tragically summarized in Lil Man’s lynching. The act was a warning to young men like Williams not to get ahead of themselves, never mind their barely keeping pace to begin with. This is not a story that the Richard Williams of King Richard , played by Will Smith , tells in explicit detail onscreen, despite being a man full of stories — and potentially, to the primarily white world of tennis in the 1990s, full of shit. Nor does the movie give us the lowdown on another tale Williams spins in his memoir, one that’s just as memorable and revealing: of dressing up in a Klan uniform as a teenager and, feeling duly empowered, knocking a white guy upside his head with a stick.

Here’s what the movie does give us: a Richard Williams who somehow makes those stories — their brash, tireless, fearless near-foolishness — plausible. A Williams for whom abandonment by one’s father is a mistake not to be repeated.

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King Richard is, in the broad sense, a movie about the making of Venus and Serena. It gets there through a portrait of their father that is in many ways consistent with the man we meet in that memoir — consistent, that is, with the stories he’s told about himself, as distinct from the stories told about him in the media during his heyday as a thorn in the tennis world’s side. It’s a portrait keen on making us aware of the vast gulf between these portrayals, and on trying to get us to see this man from both sides.

So we are treated to an equal-parts moving and humorous depiction of Williams the hard-working family man, on the one hand, and of Williams the dadager on the other. The latter Williams was infamous for shirking the so-called rules of the game and troubling, in his private life, for his willingness to steamroll the desires of even those people closest to him, the women in his life that he was ostensibly working so hard to support. We get Williams the persistent pain in the ass who knows that the only way to bring two Black girls from Compton to the attention of the best tennis coaches in the country is, frankly, to be a pain in the ass; and the Williams so dead-set on his vision for the family’s future that he forgets to talk things over with his wife, Brandy (played by the great Aunjanue Ellis), who’s just as much their coach as he is. The Williams who embodies stubbornness while chastising his daughters for it; and who can’t even let a family rewatch of Cinderella go by without turning it into a pop quiz on morality.

Williams, as charismatically portrayed by Smith, is overwhelming. Obstinate. Bold. Savvy. Pugnacious. Selfless in that special way that somehow veers right back around to selfishness. On the subject of Venus and Serena, who he believes will be the future of tennis, he is also absolutely correct. Which leads to another of his standout qualities: He knows it. King Richard sayeth that these women will rule the world of sports. And they do. Williams’ fearsome need to do for his five daughters what his own father denied him is King Richard ’s salient dramatic spark. It’s the scaffolding of the character and, accordingly, the movie. It’s the essence of who the movie says the man is.

Directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green and written by first-time screenwriter Zach Baylin, King Richard is set in the early Nineties, when Venus and Serena (played, respectively, by Saniyya Sidney and Demi Singleton, lovely young stars who are easy to root for) and their three sisters are still teens or younger. It’s a time when the streets of Compton are vulnerable to drive-bys and the cops are a hovering threat. The Rodney King beating is being played and replayed on TV. A nosey neighbor calls the cops on the Williams family with fake concern for the ways that Richard and Brandy are overworking their daughters. Much of this is cinematic territory already covered in films from the period in which King Richard is set, like John Singleton’s Boyz N the Hood , down to even the hard-won lessons bestowed by strict, caring, fearless Black parents. The familiarity of the dynamic isn’t a reference to that earlier film , but an effort at continuing its counternarrative. To the misjudgments of the Moynihan Report and its view on Black families, here are movies about Black parents — the plural matters — being courageous, vital forces in their children’s’ lives, contra a broader public belief that Black households such as this did not exist.

Only, as a film about raising young Black women, and as a film about sports, there are lessons in King Richard that we won’t find in films like Boyz . In the midst of everything else being thrown the Williams daughters’ way (including tennis balls), the film nods to the distinct dangers facing young women, the street education they’re getting in the realities of catcalling and predatory men. And tennis? Its overbearing whiteness tends to speak for itself.

These are the overwhelming external odds confronting this family. Despite hard-working parents (he’s a night guard; she’s a nurse; both are skilled tennis coaches) and sky-high dreams, those odds seem not to be in its favor. We all know how this story ends, and the movie knows that we know, but so far as this Williams family is concerned, nothing is guaranteed — even as Richard’s belief that his daughters will succeed has all the power and might of a sure thing. The movie’s portrait of Compton isn’t entirely played for sociological seriousness. It becomes something of a joke to see white men, specifically the likes of Paul Cohen (Tony Goldwyn) and Rick Macci (Jon Bernthal) — coaches who take a chance on these young women, thanks to Richard’s persistence — riding into town, getting a taste of how the other half lives, looking as pale and out of place as ponies at a horse race. As the necessary counterpoint to the whiteness of the tennis world, this version of Compton almost feels too simple, as if the movie’s prying our mouths open — and those of the white coaches — to ask, “They came from this ?” When drive-by shootings become a trope on the way to other peoples’ Horatio Alger-esque success stories, something is possibly amiss.

But there’s a strong, straightforward drama coursing through the heart of the movie, the predictable but satisfying undulation of the underdog story arc — in sum, the stuff that makes sports movies such reliable vehicles for tear-jerking, riveting storytelling. The world of tennis, and the prejudices that come with it, proves a key ingredient. Here, it is a world beset with stereotypes that have a twinge of satire, as during a succession of scenes in which every one of Venus’ white competitors storms off after losing, like an entitled brat. The country clubs with their pools and high-end burgers, the Rick Macci tennis camp, the home the Williams are given to live in while they train: all of it stands in, not inaccurately, for the whiteness of the entire sport, the ease with which money is both a barrier and an expectation.

It’s into these spaces that we get King Richard asserting himself as, well, himself, armed with brochures about his daughters, finessing his way into meetings with the best coaches in the country, all the while holding the reins of his daughters’ images and careers. Despite its well-worn triumphant narrative, King Richard proves convincing at giving credence to the idea of Williams as a fact already stranger than fiction — the kind of man you can’t help but feel is a real character , in the everyday-life sense of that phrase: a one-of-a-kind guy, hard to reproduce. Green and Smith make good on the fact that Williams is dedicated to his daughters to the point of being just this side of nutty. The character grows into someone whose choices you cannot always trust, even if history would prove him right eventually — and in proving him right, make a case for the value Richard sees in his daughters, which is to say, in Black women.

That the real story at stake here is that of the rise of Venus and Serena isn’t lost on the movie. Its climactic scenes are the same as any classically satisfying sports movie’s: athletes (in this case, young Venus) making decisions about themselves, their worth, their futures, and bringing those notions to bear in a knock-down, drag-out match. This stage of King Richard is especially satisfying, the filmmaking rhythmic, the tensions nearly tactile. The movie’s emphasis on Richard, to this point, gives the action an added kick, on all fronts. When big-name sports brands try to lure Venus toward instant riches before she’s even played the match that would seal her reputation as a force to be reckoned with, King Richard transforms the scene into a shift in the balance of power: from father to daughter, from manager to star. When the actual match comes, it testifies to this shift. Richard recedes, watching from a distance. He strips himself down to one role: the supportive father.

The movie-humble quirks of Smith’s performance are very much in line with the relatable Will we met in films like The Pursuit of Happyness , serving to heighten the seeming implausibility of the Williams sisters’ successes by occasionally verging on becoming a liability. As Williams is told time and again, the man’s professional aspirations for his virtuoso daughters, who were relatively untested when they emerged on the scene, are ambitious to the point of being stubborn. You don’t have to be from Compton for the dream of winning Wimbledon to feel like a long shot. But if you are from Compton…

Richard’s reasoning? He wants his daughters to have childhoods. Yes, he works them hard. But when it’s time for a match, his words of encouragement are simple: Have fun . Compare this to the other tennis parents in the sport’s many country clubs, living competitively through their children. King Richard isn’t saying that Richard is less of a helicoptering control freak. It’s just that his reasons seem to be drawn from an opposite well — that well of traumatic experiences the real Richard writes about in his memoir, which get whittled down into only a few glimmering details in the movie.

That writing choice is almost too bad, because it’s that background material, more than most of what the movie provides, that bores a hole straight into the inner life of the man, helps us make sense of a drive that seems outsized for even the most driven parents. Williams proves quite the personality, running his life like a one-man PR firm and management team (despite his wife playing just as vital a role), exercising a degree of care and control over his daughters’ lives that stood in stark contrast to the gotta-win white parents on every side. The media, seeing him from the outside, had a way of making him into a circus freak, what with his off-color — some would say candid — remarks about race and money and the game and all his talk of that 78-page plan he’d written to map out the young prodigies’ sterling futures. To the people who doubted him, Williams was a huckster. King Richard , by contrast, has faith in the man’s faith. So much so that he’s almost rendered into a saint, however human. The movie, which is admirably sincere but for a few too-drippy scenes, is sometimes at its weakest in allowing Smith to play him up like that saint, even as the screenplay makes sure to bring him down to size when it counts, as solid adult dramas tend to do. Better is Smith’s turn as Richard the Unpredictable, Richard the Overbearing, Richard the Goofy. The Richard quizzing the family on life lessons via Disney; the Richard who preaches humility yet fails to practice it.

Zach Baylin — once a prop and set dresser for shows like Girls and Damages ; now a big-ticket Hollywood writer who’s already been tapped to pen the script for Creed III — has written an utterly consumable version of this story, shaving off the complexities of Richard’s past and even present to portray him as a man whose eye is firmly on the future. There’s a nod to the fact that Williams has children outside of his marriage to Brandy, from whom he is currently divorced. The side of Richard responsible for that indiscretion is largely left out of the movie — but of course Brandy cannot leave it unmentioned. And Ellis is too good of an actor not to give her a major scene of confrontation. She makes good on the chance, forcing us to reconcile the childhood survivalist Richard, the cheating Richard, the Richard who undermines her by excluding her, with the Richard doing good by his daughters.

Richard Williams’ life avails us of a movie hero too robust for the usual three-act, feel-good, I-laughed-I-cried kind of movie. If that’s ultimately what King Richard is, it’s good at being what it is, generous with its character complexities and dramatic pleasures in ways that strong actors in pursuit of solid roles, to say nothing of the Oscar voters eager to reward their work, cannot resist. The basic sports-movie template of the competitive underdog who proves everyone wrong is equally irresistible — even when you already know that the story ends with the underdogs becoming two of the most heralded athletes in the history of sports. The movie’s brightest-burning idea, and it is sincerely moving, is that Richard, for his flaws, does what he does on behalf of the young Black women he’s raising. This rings true in real life and in fiction. He doesn’t need to be selfless, or even likable, for it to be true; if Smith’s performance sells us on one thing, it’s this.

Why King Richard , then, when the story of interest to most people is probably that of his daughters, tennis’s reigning queens? This is the kind of movie to question the difference. Yes, it says, these women are once-in-a-lifetime athletes. But what are we, the movie asks, if not products of the sacrifices, flaws, and sky-high aspirations of our parents?

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