Greatness attracts greatness. That's what Ryan Coogler, the game-changing director of Black Panther and producer of Judas and the Black Messiah, wants me to know. He's not talking about himself (though, indirectly, he kind of is) but about Stephen Curry, who, in his 14 years in the NBA, has—quite literally—changed the game. Coogler and Curry are touting the virtues of what the Golden State Warriors point guard calls “irrational confidence.” They are going long on it, thinking it through, rumbling over what it means to believe in yourself, to believe in those around you, and to somehow arrive at greatness: not as a destination but as a byproduct.
The two, along with Curry's producing partner Erick Peyton, are tucked into a small hotel room in Midtown Manhattan to talk about their new documentary, Underrated, which looks back at Curry's early years at Davidson College and his special, fateful relationship with head coach Bob McKillop. For much of the interview, Curry sits with his hands folded across his stomach and his lean, long legs stretched out under the too-small table. Coogler, who produced the doc, can barely contain his restlessness. He leans in, pushes his chair back, bangs a fist on the table to emphasize a point.
Curry and Coogler may not seem like the most natural team-up, but the two vibe at parallel frequencies. They both love basketball; both love Oakland—Coogler as a native of the city, and Curry as the otherworldly sharpshooter who brought three championships to the town before the Warriors made their controversial move to San Francisco in 2019. Though Coogler is reluctant to admit it, the two are also connected by their respective greatness. Judas and the Black Messiah was the first Best Picture nominee in Oscar history to have an all-Black roster of producers; Black Panther was the first superhero movie to receive a Best Picture nod. Curry has earned four NBA rings and two league MVP trophies, and he holds the NBA three-point record.
Success is never necessarily predestined. Both Coogler and Curry thrive in industries ruled by numbers—either court stats or box office figures—yet this focus on the quantifiable is what Underrated pushes against. Focusing on Curry’s time at Davidson College, director Peter Nicks forgoes making a 110-minute career highlight reel and instead examines how a kid who was considered too small for the NBA, who shot air balls in his first game as a college freshman, defied what any algorithm could have predicted. The most moving parts aren't when our scrawny, undervalued hero starts to drain threes but rather when we see the diligent, no-BS support of his mom, Sonya, dad Dell, and Coach McKillop. Watching, you get the feeling that maybe—and this is why Coogler gets so passionate—had things gone just a bit differently, professional basketball would have been robbed of one of its greatest talents.
As we talk, Curry occasionally lapses into sports clichés that have all the authenticity of an Instagram post. Do the reps. Get in a flow state. Be honest with yourself. But listening to Steph talk is like watching him play. The man is just so damn good, you can't help but become a convert. He works with so much joy and ease that it rubs off on collaborators and competitors alike. There’s that irrational confidence again—the ability to move through the world regardless of what the algorithms and metrics say. Maybe we all need a little more of that.
Hemal Jhaveri: So how did this film come to be?