Moneyball
I
hate sports. Pretty much all
sports. I’ve never been
particularly athletic. I really
don’t play well with others. And,
unless they involve a mix of pageantry and extreme violence, I’m just not
interested in spectator sports.
Football,
tennis, cricket, cycling; I’d rather be pushing drawing pins into my knees than
watch them. In fact, the only
sport that really holds my attention is bullfighting.
Bullfighting
has everything my sociopathically rigorous viewing tastes demand. It’s got the pomp, it’s got the
ceremony, it’s got the pretty costumes and, critically, it’s got the
ritualised, extreme bloody violence.
Basically, it’s Easter Sunday Mass. With a live crucifixion.
I
particularly hate American sports.
For starters, I’m not American, I haven’t been raised on them and I
don’t understand the rules.
Secondly, no-one plays them except the Americans. Calling it the World Series when you’re
the only one playing is not only inaccurate it’s just plain arrogant. Thirdly, they’re too long. Three hours
of watching a Cro-Magnon spit punctuated by occasional bursts of frantic
activity is two hours 59 minutes too long watching a Cro-Magnon spit.
And
the films! God, I hate sports films. I may smear myself with my own
excrement and run through the streets taking random scalps, singing: “Hello
darkness, my old friend,” over and over while weeping hysterically if I have to
sit through yet another film where a plucky team of underdogs are brought
together by a down-on-his-luck coach offered one last chance at redemption and
led by an over-the-hill player aiming for one last shot at glory as they go up
against bigger, better, richer, opponents. The coach won’t get along with his star player but they’ll
put aside their differences and make a spectacular comeback as the team,
against all the odds, makes it to the final where ultimately, win or lose, the
result itself is superfluous. It’s
how the game is played that matters, yeah? Yeah, right…
Which
brings us to Moneyball, the 133 minute-long (too long) true story of a down-on-his-luck
coach who takes a bunch of rejects and builds a team of plucky underdogs for
that one last desperate shot at redemption. While most of the usual clichés are present and correct in Moneyball’s starting line-up, the film
throws more than its share of unexpected curveballs (Curveballs! You see what I did there?) at
its audience, not least of which it’s a sports movie with very little actual
sport in it. It’s also damn good.
After
another losing season where his best players are poached by bigger, richer
teams, Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), manager of the cash-strapped Oakland A’s is
forced to rebuild his team from scratch.
A chance meeting with Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a young Economics
graduate with some radical ideas, inspires Beane to hire Brand as his assistant
manager and together they set out to change the face of baseball. Bucking the accepted wisdom, they take
some of the most misfit players in the sport and build a winning team based not
on the conventional worth of the players but on their statistical ability. But they face stiff opposition not just
from the fans and the media but from their own staff, including coach Art Howe
(Philip Seymour Hoffman). With not
just his reputation but his job on the line, can Beane change the team’s
fortunes?
Working
from a script by Steve Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, director Bennett Miller has
fashioned a sharp, intelligent, funny, surprisingly uplifting film that
body-swerves sports heroics, completely dispensing with tired clichés like
slo-mo base-stealing and players spotting loved ones amid a 50,000-strong
crowd, in favour of office politics and character development. You know, the kind of things you
watch drama for. The action rarely
strays onto the field, Pitt’s manager is too superstitious to watch the games,
spending the time driving around while Hill texts him the plays; this is a
baseball movie with precious little baseball. This is a film about relationships, about ideas, about
belief. The underdogs here aren’t
the team of no-hopers, they’re Pitt and Hill. The battle they’re locked in isn’t for the championship but
for the soul of their sport.
They’re the little guys taking on the might of corporate America.
Sporting
a charming, playful, effortless Pitt performance that’s sure to be
Oscar-nominated and a stunningly good performance by Hill in his first straight
role as the shy, bookish Brand, at it’s heart Moneyball is both a buddy movie
charting Pitt and Hill’s bromance and a metaphor for the effects of the
selfish, ravenous capitalism that has plunged the world into recession. As baseball consumes itself, teams
paying ridiculous high salaries, chasing the best players in a war of
attrition, only Pitt’s Beane and Hill’s Brand see the truth; that the situation
is unsustainable and that the only way to save the game is to tear down the
status quo.
While
the film contains some bravura scenes with a phone negotiation-cum-high stakes
bluff by Pitt as exciting a scene as any in this year’s action flicks, Moneyball works best in it’s quieter
moments; Pitt’s interactions with onscreen daughter the heartbreakingly good
Kerris Dorsey, Hill’s sweet attempt to fire a player, Pitt alone, his easy,
infectious charm masking a man tortured by doubt and failure, missed chances
and unfulfilled potential.
Soulful
and thoughtful, Moneyball will actually bring a tear to your eye and swell your
chest. If all sports films were
this good, I’d take one up.
David Watson
Director
Bennett Miller
Cast
Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Robin Wright, Philip Seymour Hoffman,
Kerris Dorsey
Country
USA
Running time
133 minutes
Year
2011
Certificate
12A
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