“The Mighty Macs” is a sweet, innocuous family movie about a young feminist who defies her husband, becomes a basketball coach and leads the team of a nearly bankrupt Catholic women’s college to the sport’s first national championship. There is nothing to complain about except the film’s deadening predictability and the bland, shallow characters. Kid viewers up to a certain age may like it just fine.

Carla Gugino gives a lovable performance as the real-life Cathy Rush. Herself a college basketball star, Cathy is recently married to Ed Rush (David Boreanaz), an NBA referee who expects her to be a dutiful little wait-at-home housewife. That’s not her nature.

She’s the only applicant for the coaching position at tiny Immaculata College in Pennsylvania. The school owns one basketball. Its gym has just burned down. The salary is $450 a season. Her mission is explained by the school president, Mother St. John (Ellen Burstyn): The point isn’t winning; it’s keeping the girl’s hormones under control.

From this point, we know from countless other movies that Immaculata will win the national championship. In case there’s a shred of doubt, the ads reassure us. You don’t get a movie made about you by starting without a gym and going on to build a good second-place team. We also know with certainty that the film will end with the Big Game. That is right and proper. What we hope for, however, are memorable characters, colorful dialogue and a few surprises along the way.

The biggest surprise for me was the character of Ed Rush, Cathy’s husband. In a film populated by nice people, he comes across as a louse. Remember the movie is set in 1971, when Male Chauvinist Pig was a term in everyday use. Ed is a gold-plated MCP. He complains that Cathy’s coaching duties mean she’s late getting home and doesn’t tend to her wifely duties. He takes no interest in her team. Nor, although they are recently married, does he seem to feel any stirrings of affection and lust. The basketball team is certainly working to keep his hormones under control.

You know the movie, written and directed by Tim Chambers, is going to have to move the louse’s character from A to B. The turning point is a solid brass cliche. On an away trip, he phones home, says he’s delayed and then asks, “How was your game?” “We won,” she says. “And … thanks for asking.” Because he never had before. He takes a beat. “I love you,” he says.

What changed? I dunno. Maybe be heard the team was winning. In movies like this, there’s always a climactic scene where the absent parent/teacher/authority is found sitting in the stands. Sure enough, for the final game, the camera cuts to Ed in the bleachers, who gives his wife a proud, if not effusive, nod.

Men are not prized in “Mighty Macs.” The other male of consequence is the Monsignor, played by the legendary Malachy McCourt. He is only seen chairing board meetings at which the trustees agree the school is broke and must be closed. He’s always talking about the “best offers.” Mother St. John is a realist and agrees. Cathy Rush doesn’t get the drift. She’s forever bursting through a closed door with pleas for money for uniforms or transportation to out-of-town games. The Monsignor also turns up at the national championship game and smiles. So you see what men care about.

The other major character is a young nun, Sister Sunday (Marley Shelton). She confesses to Mother St. John that she’s not sure she should be a nun. She’s having a crisis of faith. Then she signs on as Cathy’s assistant coach, and now she has a mission. Spiritual matters don’t seem to enter into this. In fact, this movie has about as little religion in it as it’s probably possible for a movie set at a Catholic school. The team doesn’t even pray before games. Sister Sunday does walk into chapel and demand, in a clear ringing voice, for a message from God. Apparently the assistant coaching position is God’s answer. He moves in mysterious ways.

I’m not unhappy with this movie. It’s good-hearted and pleasant and tells an uplifting story. Younger viewers may love it. It has an innocence that today’s movies have almost lost. Consider: Even 3-D animated movies about animated animals are now usually rated PG. How long has it been since you’ve seen a G-rated sports film?

 

“Senna” is a documentary that focuses on the popular image of the great auto racer and leaves us to ponder the mystery. Ayrton Senna won the Formula One world championship three times, was cheated of it a fourth, was the beloved hero of his native Brazil and died in a crash at 34 — when he was in the lead during a race. All of that racing fans may already know. This film implies that he was consumed, inflamed, devoured by the need to win. Perhaps no one, least of all Senna, can say why.

He is a good-looking, nice boy when he has a surprise success in the Monaco Grand Prix. Earlier, he’d done well on the top-level Go Kart circuit; his wealthy family could afford to send the boy to Europe for a world competition. In a few short years, he leaped into the front ranks of Formula One drivers and exhibited an ability to come from far back in a pack and blaze past other race cars.

At first, he was happy to be a McLaren teammate of Alain Prost, the French champion. Then they became cool, and finally bitter, rivals who did not speak. Between them was Jean-Marie Balestre, the French president of the Federation Internationale de Sport Automobile. When Senna and Prost collided during a 1989 Grand Prix in Japan, the archival footage makes it look as if Prost left a gap and moved too late to try to fill it again. The federation ruled against Senna, gave him a suspended disqualification and fined him. Much is said about Prost being better at the “politics” of Formula One than Senna; the implication is that Balestre was prejudiced in favor of his countryman.

The movie is edited entirely from Formula One archival video. There is no new footage in the film. The well-chosen voiceover narration is by Senna, his parents, his sister, Prost and a great many television commentators. “Senna” lives entirely in the moment. The race footage is thrilling; much of it, including the seconds leading up to Senna’s final crash in 1994, is from the camera mounted on his car.

That final one-car crash is an enigma. Senna, having joined the Williams-Renault team, had been complaining about his car. It failed him in two earlier races. He doesn’t like the steering or the suspension. Experts later suggested the crash was due to mechanical failure. A man who believed deeply in his connection with God, Senna awakened on his final day, felt uneasy and consulted his Bible, coming upon a passage in which God told him he would be united with Him on that day. Not precisely good news.

As I looked at Senna’s face before the race, I felt I was looking at a man who expected to die. His doctor advised him to retire. “I can’t,” he said. What drove him? The film is enigmatic about his inner life. He loved women and is seen with many, but we learn nothing about his relationships. He drove faster than anyone else, in a sport where success is a hair’s breadth from disaster. In a competition among risk-takers, he took the most. But apparently that isn’t why he crashed.

Earlier, Alain Prost, having finally won the world title, retired on the spot. Good for him. Senna won it three times, kept right on racing — and would have continued, I suspect, until he finally died on the track. That is not the portrait of a happy man, and although he pours magnums of champagne over his head on one podium after another, he doesn’t look joyous so much as vindicated.

“Senna” is a documentary that does the job it sets out to do. I wish it had tried for more. It is a competent TV sports doc, the sort you’d expect to see on ESPN. Unless you are a big fan of Senna or Formula One, I don’t know why you’d want to pay first-run prices to see it.

 

“The Mighty Macs” is a sweet, innocuous family movie about a young feminist who defies her husband, becomes a basketball coach and leads the team of a nearly bankrupt Catholic women’s college to the sport’s first national championship. There is nothing to complain about except the film’s deadening predictability and the bland, shallow characters. Kid viewers up to a certain age may like it just fine.

Carla Gugino gives a lovable performance as the real-life Cathy Rush. Herself a college basketball star, Cathy is recently married to Ed Rush (David Boreanaz), an NBA referee who expects her to be a dutiful little wait-at-home housewife. That’s not her nature.

She’s the only applicant for the coaching position at tiny Immaculata College in Pennsylvania. The school owns one basketball. Its gym has just burned down. The salary is $450 a season. Her mission is explained by the school president, Mother St. John (Ellen Burstyn): The point isn’t winning; it’s keeping the girl’s hormones under control.

From this point, we know from countless other movies that Immaculata will win the national championship. In case there’s a shred of doubt, the ads reassure us. You don’t get a movie made about you by starting without a gym and going on to build a good second-place team. We also know with certainty that the film will end with the Big Game. That is right and proper. What we hope for, however, are memorable characters, colorful dialogue and a few surprises along the way.

The biggest surprise for me was the character of Ed Rush, Cathy’s husband. In a film populated by nice people, he comes across as a louse. Remember the movie is set in 1971, when Male Chauvinist Pig was a term in everyday use. Ed is a gold-plated MCP. He complains that Cathy’s coaching duties mean she’s late getting home and doesn’t tend to her wifely duties. He takes no interest in her team. Nor, although they are recently married, does he seem to feel any stirrings of affection and lust. The basketball team is certainly working to keep his hormones under control.

You know the movie, written and directed by Tim Chambers, is going to have to move the louse’s character from A to B. The turning point is a solid brass cliche. On an away trip, he phones home, says he’s delayed and then asks, “How was your game?” “We won,” she says. “And … thanks for asking.” Because he never had before. He takes a beat. “I love you,” he says.

What changed? I dunno. Maybe be heard the team was winning. In movies like this, there’s always a climactic scene where the absent parent/teacher/authority is found sitting in the stands. Sure enough, for the final game, the camera cuts to Ed in the bleachers, who gives his wife a proud, if not effusive, nod.

Men are not prized in “Mighty Macs.” The other male of consequence is the Monsignor, played by the legendary Malachy McCourt. He is only seen chairing board meetings at which the trustees agree the school is broke and must be closed. He’s always talking about the “best offers.” Mother St. John is a realist and agrees. Cathy Rush doesn’t get the drift. She’s forever bursting through a closed door with pleas for money for uniforms or transportation to out-of-town games. The Monsignor also turns up at the national championship game and smiles. So you see what men care about.

The other major character is a young nun, Sister Sunday (Marley Shelton). She confesses to Mother St. John that she’s not sure she should be a nun. She’s having a crisis of faith. Then she signs on as Cathy’s assistant coach, and now she has a mission. Spiritual matters don’t seem to enter into this. In fact, this movie has about as little religion in it as it’s probably possible for a movie set at a Catholic school. The team doesn’t even pray before games. Sister Sunday does walk into chapel and demand, in a clear ringing voice, for a message from God. Apparently the assistant coaching position is God’s answer. He moves in mysterious ways.

I’m not unhappy with this movie. It’s good-hearted and pleasant and tells an uplifting story. Younger viewers may love it. It has an innocence that today’s movies have almost lost. Consider: Even 3-D animated movies about animated animals are now usually rated PG. How long has it been since you’ve seen a G-rated sports film?

 

In the 2002 season, the nation’s lowest-salaried Major League Baseball team put together a 20-game winning streak, setting a new American League record. The team began that same season with 11 losses in row. What happened between is the stuff of “Moneyball,” a smart, intense and moving film that isn’t so much about sports as about the war between intuition and statistics.

I walked in knowing what the movie was about, but unprepared for its intelligence and depth. It centers on the character of the Oakland Athletics’ general manager Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), who after a bad start as a MLB player, moved over to management and was driven by his hatred of losing. In his previous season, he’d taken the A’s to the World Series, only to have them lose and see their best three players hired away by richer teams offering much bigger salaries.

Faced with rebuilding the team at bargain basement prices, Beane became persuaded by the theories of Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a nerdy recent Yale graduate who crunched numbers to arrive at a strict cost-benefit analysis of baseball players.

He persuaded Beane that he should hire based on key performance statistics that pointed to undervalued players. Together, they assembled a team that seemed foolhardy at first, but during the course of an agonizing season, proved itself the biggest bargain in baseball.

“Peter Brand” is based on people described in the 2003 book Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game by Michael Lewis.Jonah Hill’s performance is understated and fascinating; a pudgy kid who has never played a baseball game in his life, Peter has analyzed decades of baseball stats to prove that game-winning qualities are not always the ones veteran scouts look for. He’s shy and quiet, advancing his theories tentatively but with firm certainty; he’s an amusing contrast with the team’s grizzled, tobacco-chewing scouts — who are looking for all the wrong things, Brand argues.

Pitt’s Billy Beane is an inward and lonely man, recovering from a failed marriage and doting on his daughter, Casey (Kerris Dorsey). He’s so driven, he can’t bear to watch a game in the stadium, and sometimes drives aimlessly while listening to it on the radio. He’s fully aware that if he follows his theories for the full season and they fail, that will make him unemployable. He faces fierce opposition from his bullet-headed team manager, Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who feels his experience is being insulted by a manager mesmerized by some half-baked Ivy League theorist.

The director is Bennett Miller, who also directed Hoffman in the title role of the radically different “Capote.” “Moneyball” is not a traditional sports movie, and indeed should be just as gripping for non-sports fans. It’s not a series of Big Games. When it goes to the field, it’s for well-chosen crucial moments. Its essence is in terse, brainy dialogue by the two accomplished screenwriters Aaron Sorkin (“The Social Network”) and Steven Zaillian (“Gangs of New York”). As in “The Social Network,” abstract discussions reflect deep emotional conflicts. There are a lot of laughs, but only one or two are inspired by lines intended to be funny. Instead, our laughter comes from recognition, an awareness of irony, an appreciation of perfect zingers — and, best of all, insights into human nature.

This is really a movie about business. None of the individual players have major roles. The drama all happens in the mind of a general manager and his numbers guy. They bet against tradition and in favor of numerical analysis. That goes against a century of baseball history, although for all of those years, fans have thumbed through their baseball almanacs and issued mind-numbing statistical theories on talk shows. What the numbers crunchers demonstrated is that a computer can assemble a team better than human instinct.

That’s melancholy, but then this is a melancholy movie. Pitt has some soul-baring scenes with Jonah Hill in which he wonders what it all means, anyway. It doesn’t matter if you have a 20-game winning streak. All that matters is that you win the last game of the season. Even the players are merely inventory, and there are dramatic moments here of players being traded or moved down to the minors. Baseball is a business. Only we fans love it as a game

 

If ESPN Films takes on a subject, we should assume that it’s got a story to tell that’s more complicated than something that could be covered in a five-minute segment on “SportsCenter.” That doesn’t seem to be the case with its latest release, “Senna,” which tells us not bloody much about the guy who’s ostensibly the subject of the movie.

Senna1 Review : Senna

Fans of Formula One racing know the saga of Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian driver who rose from obscurity to become a world champion in the 1980s and ’90s.

And what “Senna” does best, particularly for those not well acquainted with the racing world, is to explain the politics of Formula One and how Senna navigated them, and what it was that made him such a talented driver.

We see young Senna get chosen for the prestigious McClaren team, where he raced alongside acclaimed French driver Alain Prost, and we follow the mounting tensions as these two teammates clash with each other as both attempt to win the World Championship for themselves.

The film also conveys what a hero Senna became in his native Brazil, uniting the poor and the wealthy alike in their enthusiasm for what this native son was accomplishing on the world stage.

But while “Senna” features terrific footage of the races — as well as behind the scenes peeks into the pit, the garage, and the drivers’ meetings — it never tells us very much about the man at all.

We learn that he’s spiritual, and that he’s close to his parents, and that he’s a philanthropist. And that’s about it. He apparently dated a lot of women — including blonde-bombshell TV show host Xuxa, on whose insane Christmas show we see Senna make an appearance — but none of them are interviewed, and we get very little sense of what fueled his ambitions, or why he became such an instinctive and intuitive race car driver.

The only moment in which “Senna” doesn’t completely beatify its subject occurs in an archival interview where retired champ Jackie Stewart tells the young hotshot that Senna has bumped more cars in his first three years on the circuit than most Formula One champs do over the course of their careers.

Senna gets somewhat annoyed at this line of questioning, but then the subject is dropped and never raised again in the film.

If you’re a fan of Formula One, you’ll enjoy seeing this footage on the big screen, but unlike the really great sports documentaries (“Hoop Dreams,” “When We Were Kings”), this one offers little to those not already versed in the subject.

 

No punches are pulled in mixed martial arts fights — they’re raw, they’re violent, and they look really painful, which makes the sport as appropriate a metaphor as any for “Warrior,” a tale of two MMA fighters that’s really about the hard blows delivered by screwed-up family dynamics.

warrior1 Review : Warrior

As opposed to most movies about drunk dads and the damaged kids who survived them, “Warrior” goes much heavier on the regret and recrimination than it does on the forgiveness and the closure.

Also see: ’Warrior’ Trailer: Tom Hardy Gets Punchy (Video)

Don’t be surprised to find yourself flinching more at the family arguments than at the wham-bam head-smashing.

Nick Nolte, digging fearlessly into his own personal demons, plays Paddy Conlon, a boozy veteran who spent much of his fatherhood years training his son Tommy to be a world-class fighter.

When Mrs. Conlon got fed up with Paddy’s abuse, she left with Tommy, but her older son, Brendan, stuck around, wanting to stay close to his girlfriend and incorrectly assuming that Paddy would finally start paying attention to him.

That’s the backstory in play when grown-up Tommy (Tom Hardy) returns from combat in Iraq. At first, he wants absolutely nothing to do with Paddy, but when Tommy climbs into the ring and flattens one of the top national MMA contenders, he hires Paddy to be his trainer — and nothing more.

Meanwhile, Brendan (Joel Edgerton) has put his own pugilistic past behind him, and now he’s a physics teacher who’s married to his high-school sweetheart (Jennifer Morrison) and the father of two young daughters. But when the bank comes calling and threatens to take away his house, he finds himself climbing back into the ring, fighting in strip-joint parking lots for a few bucks.


When a billionaire decides to hold a winner-take-all MMA tournament in Atlantic City with a $5 million purse, both brothers decide they want to go for it. (Tommy wants to give the money to the widow of his war buddy.)

The brothers unite at the Jersey shore, but Tommy still resents Brendan for not coming with him to take care of their mother, and Brendan still resents Paddy for his past bad behavior, which all the 1,000-day-sober AA chips in the world won’t heal. (“The only thing [Brendan and I] have in common,” Tommy tells Paddy, “is that we have no use for you.”)

Director Gavin O’Connor has established himself as a skillful crafter of both uplifting sports movies (“Miracle”) and stories of complicated family dynamics (“Tumbleweeds”), and he gets to flex both muscles here. I can’t attest to the realism of the fight sequences, but cinematically, they’re stirring and taut and empathetic and everything else that they’re supposed to be.

And while O’Connor and co-screenwriters Anthony Tambakis and Cliff Dorfman aren’t above tugging our heartstrings with character reversals — Brendan’s wife tells him she refuses to go watch him fight, so you just know she’s eventually going to turn up ringside in Atlantic City — they wisely avoid any easy resolutions for Paddy, particularly after he falls off the wagon.

 

This is something that American men are never supposed to admit, but here goes — I don’t care about sports. I never followed a team, I’ve never cared who won the Super Bowl or the World Series, and I can count on one hand the number of games I’ve watched from start to finish on television.

MB1 Review: Moneyball

So it’s really saying something that I was riveted by “Moneyball.” And yes, it’s set in the world of pro baseball, exploring how Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane subverted the dominant paradigm by assembling a team of inexpensive, non-flashy players who could make it to base rather than spend millions on celebrity hot-shot ballers who might or might not deliver on the field.

But really, “Moneyball” is about throwing out the established conventions of doing business and trying something new. So it could be about the iPod or the Obama 2008 campaign or the Fox network’s decision to air new episodes of “Beverly Hills, 90210” during summer rerun season.


This isn’t a sports story, it’s a tale of bold visionaries, so it’s a perfect follow-up to “The Social Network” for screenwriter Aaron Sorkin, collaborating here with the equally acclaimed Steven Zaillian (“Schindler’s List,” the upcoming “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”). Baseball fans will, presumably, enjoy a peek behind the curtain of the 2002 season, but you don’t need to know a bunt from a sacrifice fly to enjoy the movie, any more than you needed to write HTML code to follow “Social Network.”

“Moneyball” begins with Beane’s disappointment at the end of the 2001 season — not only do the much-better-funded New York Yankees knock the A’s out of the playoffs, but Oakland is also about to lose its star players (Jason Giambi, Johnny Damon, and Jason Isringhausen) to teams that can offer them higher salaries.


Attempting to replace these stars with a minimal budget, Beane visits the Cleveland Indians head office and finds some unexpected talent: Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a number-cruncher who graduated from Yale with an economics degree and who has formulated an entirely different way of evaluating players. Brand doesn’t care about their confidence or their handsomeness or their fielding skills or their throwing arms — everything boils down to whether or not they can get on base, even if it’s by walking. The more players on base, the logic goes, the more runs scored and the more games won.

The scouts for the A’s refuse to believe that the process can be boiled down to statistics, but Beane believes in Peter’s theories, particularly since Beane himself was a once-promising young player who gave up a full ride at Stanford to play baseball right out of high school, only to disappoint once he’d made it to the big time.

 

Young actors are wonderful creatures, breezing — or busting — on to the landscape as if from nowhere, indulging us in the delight of discovery. But the twin pleasure of finding a new actor is watching an older one sidestep into territory you don’t expect, becoming someone you’d never have thought he could be. That’s where we’re at with Brad Pitt, who has never been better than he is in Bennett Miller’s Moneyball. As Billy Beane, the beleaguered Oakland A’s general manager who turned his team around by thinking outside the Major League Baseball box, Pitt works wonders by seeming to do nothing at all.

I remember how many critics marveled over Pitt’s super-actory turn in Twelve Monkeys, announcing it as a breakthrough in the evolving actor’s career. Moneyball is a much bigger breakthrough, and one that’s harder to pull off: Now that Pitt no longer has brash youth on his side, he’s digging deeper and doing more with less. It’s the kind of acting — understated but woven with golden threads of movie-star style — that gives us more to look at rather than less.

The picture works as a classic American sports movie but also cuts a window into a much less glamorous pursuit, that of keeping an ailing business alive with creativity and open-mindedness.

The picture is an adaptation of Michael Lewis’s bookMoneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game — the script is by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, from a story by Stan Chervin — and even if you think you don’t care about baseball, I’d urge you to give it a try. The true measure of Moneyball’s effectiveness may have less to do with how well it works for baseball fans than for how it plays with people who wouldn’t know a triple play if it whacked them upside the head. I fall into the latter camp, but I was delighted by Moneyball: The picture works as a classic American sports movie but also cuts a window into a much less glamorous pursuit, that of keeping an ailing business alive with creativity and open-mindedness.

As the picture opens, Pitt’s Billy Beane, in the last game of the 2001 season, is reckoning with the loss of some of his best players; they’ve been wooed away the Yankees and the Red Sox, or, more specifically, by dazzling salaries he can’t afford to pay. Later, he sits around a table with a bunch of old-timers who think they know how to find good players, though their criteria includes assessments of how good-looking the guys’ girlfriends or wives are. (According to the decree of one of these wise-ass Tarot readers, an ugly girlfriend means a player lacks confidence.) Beane isn’t buying their collective shtick — he eyes them with bemusement and a faint glimmer of disgust as he spits chaw into his cup — for reasons that later become clear: He himself was drafted by the Mets in the late ’70s, lured with promises that weren’t exactly broken and weren’t exactly kept. (Miller reveals that backstory in artfully carved-out slices that reinforce the contemporary story without bogging it down.) A somewhat-chance encounter with a pudgy Yale graduate whose head is filled with stats, Jonah Hill’s Peter Brand, nudges Beane toward a new way of thinking about building a team: Find unflashy — and cheap — players who can at least get on base and, if possible, turn their weaknesses into strengths. As Beane observes at one point, he can’t replace one of his star players, but he can “rebuild him in the aggregate.”

The brilliance of this approach is that while it would seem to be based on an obsession with numbers as opposed to people, it’s exactly the opposite: The stats are merely a way of finding the flawed human greatness that can, perhaps perversely, help you win. Beane hires Brand away from the team he’s working for, the Cleveland Indians, and sets him to work on reinforcing the raggedy A’s. The old-timers — including manager Art Howe, played by a supremely grouchy Philip Seymour Hoffman — all think Beane is nuts and flagrantly defy him. But if you know anything about baseball, or even just about baseball movies, you can guess how this all turns out.

 
moneyball sadreviewlook gdntsr1 Review: Moneyball

I’m a sucker for inspirational sports films. As soon as our team starts winning, that’s when I start grinning. Moneyball, adapted from Michael Lewis’ book, isn’t your conventional sports film. Not only does it have Aaron Sorkin & Steven Zaillian credited for the script, but it’s directed by Bennett Miller (Capote), and focuses on Billy Beane, the Oakland A’s general manager who built a team based on statistical strengths. The film, which had revisions after Steven Soderbergh left the project, has remnants of his semi-documentary concept, but also has a compelling story centered on Brad Pitt as Beane that builds throughout the film.

Pitt plays Beane, a former ball player who is one of the youngest general managers in professional baseball. After losing the last game of the 2001 season with the Oakland A’s, Beane starts to rethink his team, and meets young Yale graduate Peter Brand, played by Jonah Hill, who helps him make choices regarding players based on their ability to get on base and get runs, which will eventually lead to wins. This system is a “reinvention” of professional baseball trading and therefore upsets the status quo. At first it doesn’t work, but as history has already proven, it eventually does. Moneyball is the story of Billy Beane and the struggles he had to go through, personally and professionally, to change baseball forever.

The film is a bit slow at the start, and it doesn’t really become great until the second half. Like a real baseball game, the first few innings can be rather boring, then out of nowhere things get ramped up when someone hits a home run. A few of the earlier scenes when everything was coming together felt a bit stale, especially Jonah Hill’s dialogue with Pitt, but right when their off-the-wall player choices finally start working out and the A’s begin a winning streak, that’s when Moneyball gets even better. It starts rough but builds over time and ends on a wonderful note, showing just how much of an impact Beane had on the game, yet still keeping the story intensely focused on his character and his journey.

As is expected for a film about baseball, by the time it was over, all I could think is how much I love baseball. Or at least how it’s presented in this film. Moneyball gives us an inside look at the trading process, and also at how even coaches (including Art Howe, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) don’t have a say over who is on the team, but can control who they put on the field during a game, which is a unique dynamic. But it’s still the general manager who makes all the calls and trades players. It’s a behind-the-scenes look that is immensely captivating to watch in the context of this story, but isn’t just about the game itself.

I was also glad to find that some of the Steven Soderbergh remnants remained intact, including the documentary-style footage. During various moments of the film discussing baseball and important elements of the game, Miller uses voiceover and archival footage to bring a more well-rounded sense of the sport and its history to the film. While we’re watching fictional scenes in a movie, he uses this edge to make it seem like a film that is real, and is still about baseball as we know it, whether on the big screen or small screen. However, there are other moments where random numbers and stats are flashed by with little explanation or concern. These were some of the cheesiest moments in the movie and definitely could’ve been improved.

Overall, while I must admit that Moneyball won’t necessarily be my favorite film of the year, it’s definitely up there. Pitt delivers a solid performance, Jonah Hill does a serviceable job and steps up occasionally but not often enough. Unfortunately it’s obvious that directing this caliber of actors isn’t Bennett Miller’s strength yet. Even Philip Seymour Hoffman, who should’ve been a highlight, was just mediocre as well. There was something off about the performances, but at least the story and the presentation made up for it in the end. Moneyball isn’t a home run, but at least a double, and if the player is really good, a triple.

 

 

There’s a moment at the end of Gavin O’Connor’s MMA drama Warrior in which two men who have been relentlessly beaten and pummeled in the octagon stand dripping with exhaustion, rivers of sweat mingling with the tears running down their faces. It doesn’t matter that you can’t tell the sweat from the tears; that’s partly the point of Warrior anyway, which makes you feel every emotional wound just as acutely, if not more so, than the bruising, rib-crunching body blows. Yes, this is a mixed martial arts movie (distributed by genre specialists Lionsgate, no less). But it’s also one of the most heart-wrenching and deeply felt films of the year.

That’s not to say Warrior falls all the way into the tried-and-true-and-overdone terrain of “inspirational sports movie,” although it does wade through its fair share of genre clichés and calculatedly affecting storytelling tropes. It’s Rocky redux in a sense, an underdog fighting tale set against the backdrop of working-class America.

The key difference is, in Warrior there are two Rockys. Brendan Conlon (Aussie Joel Edgerton) is a high school physics teacher in Philadelphia struggling to keep a roof over the heads of his wife (Jennifer Morrison, in an exquisitely balanced supporting turn) and their two young daughters following a mortgage-draining medical crisis. When bouncing on the side doesn’t quite bring in enough cash to keep them afloat, Brendan goes back to the pre-teaching gig that pays well but risks doing damage, both physical and marital: Arena fighting at the local strip club.

Meanwhile, over in Brendan’s hometown of Pittsburgh, his estranged father, ex-alcoholic and formerly abusive wrestling coach Paddy Conlon (Nick Nolte), comes home from a 12-step meeting to find his long lost other son Tommy (Tom Hardy) on his stoop. Tommy’s more of an enigma, to his father and to the viewer; self-destructive, closed-off, and bitter over a past family rift that goes unspoken, he’s running from something he won’t share with anyone. A chance opportunity at the local gym gives Tommy the break he’s been looking for — entry into an internationally-televised mixed martial arts tournament called Sparta, with a $5 million cash prize to the last man standing.

And so we launch headlong into the road to Sparta, following both Conlon boys as they wallop and wrestle their way toward the championship, and — of course — toward the inevitable brotherly showdown in the ring. Their shared history, gathered in snatches of pained conversation over the course of the film, explains why a rift remains between them and their reformed, lonely father — and also why it’s so damn hard for these men to forgive the wrongs of the past, as remembered differently by each through the haze of memory and hurt. Paddy, at least, has come the farthest from that tumultuous family history, but then he’s also the cause of it all. The realization consumes him, reflected in his obsessive reliance on an on-the-nose but fitting book-on-tape cassette of Moby Dick.

But despite Paddy’s efforts at reconciliation (and a heartbreaking scene in which Nolte’s Paddy, rejected for the umpteenth time by Hardy’s Tommy, falls off the wagon in the most devastating way — just one of Warrior’s surprising, award-worthy moments), this is Brendan and Tommy’s story. One’s lithe and composed, strategic, a family man; the other brawny and explosive, driven by pain, a loner — two sides of man and masculinity, deep readers might note, struggling to reconcile against all odds.

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