"Probably the best thing that ever happened to me was going nuts. Whoever heard of Jimmy Piersall, until that happened?" -- Jimmy Piersall

Such is the premise in Fear Strikes Out, a 1957 biopic about fiery baseball player Jimmy Piersall, who once suffered a nervous breakdown during a game, requiring extensive psychological treatment. Considering that the film came out before the middle of Piersall's 17-year old career, you can only imagine the ribbing that would escalate on the field after the film’s release. It's a good thing that Piersall emerged from his breakdown with a carefree attitude that baseball should be played for fun.

Anthony Perkins takes on the role of the adult Piersall, foreshadowing his definitive Norman Bates character, but this time his parental tormentor is his overprotective father (Karl Malden). The real Piersall disavowed himself from the film, disgusted with the liberties the screenplay takes with the truth--little doubt the forced premise about his father being the root cause of all his problems is problematic. Of course, now fact and fiction have merged and most people's "knowledge" of Jimmy Piersall is based solely on the film version.

Director Robert Mulligan, who had previously directed only television dramas, doesn't go for subtlety here. The opening scenes with pre-teen Jimmy (Peter Votrian) quickly establish the moody youngster as overly eager to please his demanding father, who expects nothing less than perfection and hard work. An early painful scene shows Jimmy wincing as his father fires fastballs back at him, yet he presses on. The dysfunctional pattern is set through that game of catch even if the kid isn't convincing as a future baseball star—his throwing motion is very inept, and no baseball playing father would have tolerated throwing like a "girl" (a supreme insult to little leaguers, referenced in The Sandlot). Of course, the mature Anthony Perkins isn't much on good baseball form either.

Fortunately for Perkins, the film is much more about his emotional difficulties and his relationship with his father than it is about baseball, so his acting makes the melodrama watchable--many of the same shy mannerisms that have become icons in Psycho are employed effectively here. Although Perkins' role is badly confined by the limited script, he creates sympathetic character with some depth—frightened eyes dart about, frustrations build up, and pent up anger explode under control. Conversely, Malden is so stereotypically overprotective that his strict curfew rules and over the top pressure for Jimmy to excel is vilified to the extent that any armchair psychologist knows exactly why Jimmy is going to crack.

Jimmy's paranoia grows steadily, beginning with fears of upsetting his comfort zone of returning home--nearly giving up the girl he loves. Then when on the verge of making his big league dreams come true, he feels like backing out on the Red Sox because they want him to play shortstop instead of the outfield. Outbursts of temper flare up with teammates that don't have his same workaholic standards—rather unbelievable, considering how a lowly rookie would never be tolerated by veteran ballplayers with such an attitude.

Inevitably Jimmy cracks in the film's most memorable scene—where Perkins gets to go berserk, yell and for fatherly approval, and climb the screen behind home plate. We all go a little mad sometimes, but no one carries this off better than Perkins.

Malden turns in a competent performance, hitting his marks but shows no real feeling for his cardboard part. Mainly because the screenwriter forgets to add any real flesh and blood to his lines. The father son reconciliation now seems cliché, given a similar scene in Field of Dreams with the game of catch at the end, but we must remember that this was made some thirty years before the Costner vehicle.

This is director Robert Mulligan's first major theatrical release film, so it serves as a transition from his television work. To its credit the film does focus much more on Piersall's character and photographs its subjects in black and white expertly, but the screenplay feels rather thin and simplistic--much like television morality plays. Fortunately, Mulligan will go on to direct a far more sophisticated film with To Kill a Mockingbird, and of course Anthony Perkins will always have his Psycho. But this competent study of a baseball player going wacko is interesting enough for a one-time rental, and film fans will enjoy examining the earlier work of these two men.