In a climactic moment in "42," Jackie Robinson is at bat, and the opposing team's manager is jeering at him from the dugout. The manager calls the n-word repeatedly, stringing it together like the name of a dog, and asks if Robinson's been messing around with any of his teammates' wives. Robinson strikes out, trembles but doesn't lash out, and walks away to work out his rage in private.

Robinson, who played with the Brooklyn Dodgers, was the first black man to play baseball in the major leagues. "42" follows him as he's recruited onto a Dodger's farm team and progresses onto the Dodgers, facing prejudice from umpires, crowds, and his own teammates. Throughout his ordeals, he's supported by his wife Ray; Wendel Smith, a sportswriter who's been appointed his personal assistant (raising questions of journalistic ethics that the movie forgivably ignores); and Mr. Ricky, the owner of the Dodgers.

Ultimately, "42" is about a man proving himself by his merits in the face of toxic racism. As Robinson says throughout the film, he's "just here to play ball." While Robinson couldn't have entered or succeeded in major league baseball without the support of the Dodger's management, this movie is blissfully free of the white savior complex that made 2011's "The Help" so cloying. On the field, Robinson has the power to fight back against prejudice by playing a great ball game, and he does. Mr. Ricky also makes it clear that his decision to bring Robinson onto the team is motivated at least in part by the desire to sell tickets to blacks.

No one can equate the gay rights movement of today with the Civil Rights movement of Robinson's, and later, Dr. King's time; however, when characters defended their prejudice with the language of decency, or acted as if they were the victims of discrimination because their racism wasn't being accommodated, I couldn't help but think of recent resistance to gay rights, particularly in the Boy Scouts and the Supreme Court.

Though inspiring, "42"'s power is blunted by frequent swells of music, a jarring overreliance on montage, and generally unremarkable filmmaking. When black residents of Brooklyn celebrate Robinson's victories on the field, thick music and slow-motion turn the scene into a bad music video, or maybe something out of a romance movie. If you're one of those people who laugh at anything sincere, please wait until "42" comes out on DVD so you can laugh at its ham-handedness in the comfort of your own home. The rest of us are here to see a hero. The sort of hatred that Robinson faced more than 60 years ago has weakened and changed, but it has not disappeared. Some things are still too painful to laugh at.