On Cinema, Sports and Predictability

I think we can all agree that this year's Oscar ceremony was particularly terrible. What we might not agree on is the reason why it was terrible. You may single out James Franco's blank pseudo-stoner visage, or Anne Hathaway's array of cheerleading yodels, or that horribly uncomfortable moment when Spartacus nearly toppled off the stage, or when one of the characters from Strange Brew was hired to mimic the voice of Bob Hope. You may have found the transitions from silent film to the E.T. soundtrack somewhat jarring, and you may have found the daisy chain of celebrity introductions particularly bizarre, and you may have been distracted by the dearth of Charlie Sheen jokes. But we all know the real reason this year's Oscars were so eminently forgettable is because they were so utterly predictable.*

This is the problem with an event like the Oscars: Given the flood of awards shows that come before (and the amount of coverage given to each), the winners seem patently obvious by the time the ceremony arrives. Imagine if there were five National League pitchers with 20 victories apiece, and sportswriters voted for the Cy Young Award every week in September before the final vote at the end of the season; that's essentially what the Oscars have become. They're predictable, and there's nothing worse, in cinema or in sports, than predictability.

This, above all else, is what's riding on the NFL and NBA labor negotiations, from a fan's perspective. Baseball, whether true or not, suffers from a perceived lack of parity--even if the Yankees or Red Sox don't play in the World Series, there is a perception that they are going to, and that spending six months following a small-market team may result in the occasional anomalous playoff run, it is generally a futile pursuit. And so baseball has suffered, and the NFL--despite a growing uncomfortability with the repercussions of violence--remains America's most popular sport, because a socialist collective can win a championship...and the NBA is in a state of flux, especially now, as power increasingly becomes concentrated in a handful of major markets.

Of course, I'm not saying sports will ever be as predictable as the movies. This is why, if I had to choose to eliminate one of the two from my life, I would choose film (though I'd prefer if it didn't come to that). Entertainment value is in the eye of the beholder, but I'd still prefer a world with surprises.

*For what it's worth: I would have voted for Fincher, Jesse Eisenberg, Jennifer Lawrence and Exit Through the Gift Shop.

On The Best Picture

I haven't seen The King's Speech. I'm sure it's a perfectly fine film, with a perfectly fine cast and a perfectly fine message about life. I'm sure I will see it and think, "This is a perfectly fine moviegoing experience," and then I will go home and forget all about it.

I have seen The Social Network. I have mixed feelings about Aaron Sorkin, but I thought his script was hard-edged and unsentimental and it spoke to an American moment, which is why I hope everyone who spends their time prognosticating about awards shows is right and it doesn't win the Oscar.

There are two reasons for this: The first is that it's just far more interesting when a film like The Social Network stands outside the mainstream...even if, in this case, "standing outside the mainstream" means it is actually the second most-honored film of the year. The second is that the movies that tend to get snubbed for Oscars are, approximately 75 percent of the time, more likely to be culturally relevant in the long-term than the films that win. This, I suppose, is because Oscar voters are comprised of such a large cross-section of Hollywood that their consensus is almost always going to be watered down by sentiment and facile thinking. Which is why, dating back to the rise of the modern studio era in Hollywood, the most relevant pictures are usually the ones that don't win.

1977--Winner: Annie Hall.
Most Relevant Best Picture Nominee Today: Annie Hall is probably one of my six favorite films of all-time, but Star Wars is the most relevant film of the past thirty-five years.

1978--Winner: The Deer Hunter.
MRBPNT: The Deer Hunter (if only for the Russian roulette).

1979--Winner: Kramer vs. Kramer.
MRBPNT: I watched K vs. K a few years ago; if not for the lead performances, it's basically something you'd see on Lifetime Women. Whereas Apocalypse Now is probably not.

On New Discoveries

I've been dealing with some health issues (more annoying than serious), so my apologies for the sporadic posting around here. But if there is one advantage to being sick as a freelance employee, it's that it frees me to spend my days reading novels and watching films. Here's what I've discovered:

1. Charles Willeford. Willeford is most famous for writing a book called Miami Blues, which was made into a forgettable film starring a young and suave Alec Baldwin. This is a travesty, because Willeford is kind of a genius, if only for The Shark-Infested Custard, which (apropos of its inexplicable title) is one of the darkest and weirdest novels I've read in quite some time. Go, right now, and read the first two chapters; you'll either find it brilliant or perverse (or both). As I get older, I become more and more convinced that mystery novels and sportswriting have a great deal in common: There is a tremendous amount of chaff, but the best in each genre is as good as any writing being done, anywhere. Well, Willeford was essentially Elmore Leonard before Elmore Leonard existed. He died more than two decades ago, but anyone who can write lines like this: "Hank came into the living room, looking and smelling like a jai-alai player on his night off"...deserves a lasting legacy.

2. Between the Lines. I have no idea how a relatively plotless movie about an alternative newspaper in Boston ever got made--not to mention a movie about an alternative newspaper in Boston starring half a dozen recognizable and likeable actors in the infancy of their careers--but it sure is intriguing to watch, if only for a 12-year-old Jeff Goldblum.

3. A False Spring. Maybe you know Pat Jordan from his Deadspin antics, or his Times Magazine profiles, or maybe you don't know him at all. Either way, this book is a revelation; it's a book about Jordan's failed career as a minor-league pitcher, but it has as much to do with baseball as Friday Night Lights has to do with football. Jordan does not hold back; rarely does the narrator of a memoir portray himself as essentially an immature jerk, but still manage to craft an endearing narrative. I'm still not sure how he did it, but it's worth seeking out, even if, like me, you long ago stopped really caring about baseball.

On Moneyball and the Death of the Sports Movie

It's true: The film adaptation of Moneyball, the book that spurred an ongoing Civil War between cranky sportswriters and brilliant nerds who are much more interesting when dissecting politics, appears to be dead. This saddens me for several reasons, not the least of which is that, like every other semi-rational human who read this book (incuding the author, Michael Lewis), I cannot even begin to imagine how this movie's narrative would have progressed without inducing somnambulance in theatres, and I cannot imagine how Brad Pitt would have gone about embracing his inner SABRmetrician, and I cannot imagine what the marketing campaign would entail (A Beautiful Mind meets Little Big League!). That, in itself, would have been kind of awesome to see (as would anything involving Demetri Martin).

But it's more than that. It's that there are certain filmmakers you trust, just as there are certain writers you trust, and certain musical artists you trust, and you are prepared to follow them wherever they go. This is why, if Radiohead decides to re-record the soundtrack to Les Miserables using kitchen utensils that once belonged to Roman Polanski, I will purchase said album. This is why, if Philip Roth writes a novel about an alternate universe where Dolph Schayes became the commissioner of the NBA, I will purchase said book.*

And this is why, if Steven Soderbergh somehow does con a studio into allowing him to make a movie about baseball statistics and the geeks who love them, I will be there. Because there is no cinematic category quite as moribund as the modern sports film. In fact, given this list from a 2003 issue of Sports Illustrated, I can easily make a case that the only truly great sports films since the release of 1988's Bull Durham** are documentaries: When We Were Kings, Hoop Dreams, much of HBO Sports' recent catalogue, ESPN's SportsCentury***, Murderball, certain unboring segments of Ken Burns' Baseball, Dogtown and Z-Boys, etc.

This is due, obviously, to the increasing commodification of Hollywood, and to the notion that the only sports-related feature films that appeal to mass audiences are the ones that adhere to blatant stereotypes and facile storylines. But I think it's also happened because we are so overexposed to sports these days--to that which seems real and unreal, to the ugly storylines and the bizarre twists and sick reveals of the modern age (see: Vick, Michael)--that the real thing can generally be presented in far more vivid form than anything that might have been filtered through the visions of seven Hollywood producers, including at least two who believe Oddibe McDowell was a member of Hootie and the Blowfish.****

I think Soderbergh, who works in verite, whose low-budget films (including The Girlfriend Experience, which was stolen away by my friend Glenn Kenny's freakishly creepy performance) are so "real" as to arouse a certain amount of discomfort, might be the one person in Hollywood who could actually break through this incredibly low ceiling. And even if Moneyball kind of sucked--even if it were the incoherent mess we all suspect it might be--well, at least we've tried something different.***** Because the only way a sports movie can succeed with actual sports fans in an age where sports have essentially become reality television is to make it so unbearably real that it somehow seems truer than real life.

*Note to self: This is an idea to develop.
**Which has also gotten a little hokier with age.
***Which remains the greatest thing that network has ever done.
****I have heard that this movie, Sugar, about a young Dominican pitcher, is excellent. But I have yet to see it.
*****And there is no possible way it could be any worse than Benjamin Button.