Three stars. Rated PG-13, for occasional profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.11.14
I’ve no doubt that a compelling
film could be spun from the suspense, acrimony, dashed hopes and back-room negotiating
that lead up to the annual NFL draft, but scripters Rajiv Joseph and Scott
Rothman didn’t find it.
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| With his job and the fate of his team hanging in the balance, Sonny (Kevin Costner, center) debates the merits of a potential draft choice with league "capologist" Ali (Jennifer Garner). Their discussion includes numerous pregnant pauses because, well, Sonny and Ali also are An Item, and she's, well, pregnant. Just the sort of detail one would expect from a football league war room, right? |
Nor did director Ivan Reitman,
who can’t seem to decide whether he’s making a mild farce or a straight drama.
No surprise, since Reitman remains best known for his 1980s triple-play of Stripes, Ghostbusters and Twins. He’s not done so well of late, with a
string of forgettable junk that includes Evolution and My Super
Ex-Girlfriend.
But sports drama? Not even close.
Reitman’s most mature and subtly pleasing effort remains 1993’s Dave, which
owes its juice to Gary Ross’ superlative script and Kevin Kline’s sublime
starring performance.
Draft Day has neither. Kevin
Costner tries his best with this flimsy material, but his limited thespic range
isn’t up to the subtlety demanded by his role. It’s pretty bad when we can’t
tell the difference between Costner looking happy, looking worried or looking
irritated. It’s all the same bland expression.
Comparisons to Moneyball are
inevitable, since both films deal with the fine points of building a winning
sports franchise. But that’s where the comparison ends; Aaron Sorkin and Steven
Zaillian wrote a genius script for Moneyball — working from a story by Stan
Chervin, and a book by Michael Lewis — and the result was mesmerizing drama
that drew much of its power from the clever way we were inserted into the
action. Most crucially, Moneyball never talked down to its audience.
Rothman and Joseph, in great
contrast, assume that we’re blithering idiots; their screenplay gracelessly
spoon-feeds details in a way that becomes quite tiresome. (This project
unbelievably topped Hollywood’s 2012 “Black List” of best unproduced scripts.) As
we initially visit each of the football franchises involved with this story, a
text card gives us the city, in bold type (CLEVELAND!), followed by a second
card that identifies the team with the sort of breathless emphasis associated with
screaming tabloid headlines (Home of the BROWNS!).
Actually, that’s not Reitman’s
worst stylistic offense. He and cinematographer Eric Steelberg obviously adore
their horizontal cross-fades, with one image sliding across the screen to
intersect with another, sometimes allowing a foreground figure to “intrude”
into the neighboring scene. It’s a slick trick, visually ... the first time.
And the second. Maybe even the third.
By the 50th time, however, we’re
well and truly sick of it. Camera gimmicks of this nature only succeed when
they’re a) instrumental to the story; and b) employed sparingly. The finest
example remains Haskell Wexler’s use of split screens in 1968’s original Thomas Crown Affair, a pinnacle seldom achieved since then. Steelberg’s
technique here does absolutely nothing to advance the story; he’s merely
showing off.
But Rothman and Joseph remain the
prime offenders, for a fumble-footed script that relies much too heavily on
dumb melodrama. Surely the tension of Draft Day itself would be enough to keep
us occupied, but no; this one key day also happens to be when Browns general
manager Sonny Weaver (Costner) learns that his girlfriend, Ali (Jennifer
Garner), is pregnant.
Mind you, Ali isn’t just anybody;
she also happens to be the Browns’ “capologist,” the front-office legal eagle
who keeps an eye on the league salary cap. Ali rather clumsily tells us, at one
point, that she has grown up with football in her blood: lives and breathes the
game. Bearing that in mind, how likely is it that she’d choose this particular
day to impart this particular piece of personal information to Sonny?
Naturally, Sonny and Ali are
keeping their relationship a secret, for no reason other than the fact that the
script says so. Further melodrama is provided by Sonny’s tempestuous
relationship with his head coach, Vince Penn (Denis Leary); the two men distrust
each other at best, loath each other at worst, each believing the other to be
incompetent.
Let’s see ... what else? Sonny is
operating under the broad shadow left by his father, who held the same job
until just two years ago and remains much beloved by the team. Dear ol’ dad
died just a week earlier, so emotions run high: even more so, since all of
Cleveland still hasn’t forgiven Sonny for firing his own father from the
coaching staff, (a plot hiccup that doesn’t make sense even after Sonny fully
describes it to Ali, and thus to us, late in the game).
Oh, yes; I also can’t overlook
the fact that Sonny’s secretary is absent for personal reasons, and thus has
been replaced by a nerdy intern named Rick (Griffin Newman), who functions
solely as idiotic comic relief. No offense to Newman, who does his best with
thin material, but I’ve rarely seen such a useless character inserted so maladroitly,
and then abused so pointlessly.
What the hell were all concerned
thinking?
So: Sonny’s job is on the line,
because his previous year’s golden boy, quarterback Brian Drew (Tom Welling),
injured himself mid-season and failed to live up to potential. As a result, team
owner Anthony Molina (Frank Langella) wants Sonny to “make a splash” with this
year’s draft picks. All eyes are on the headline-making Bo Callahan (Josh
Pence), a Wisconsin quarterback whose name is on everybody’s lips.
But in order to secure Callahan,
Sonny must make a deal with the devil — in this case Tom Michaels (Patrick St.
Esprit), his counterpart in Seattle (Home of the SEAHAWKS!) — by trading away
his No. 1 picks for the next three years. It seems an idiotic offer, but Sonny
accepts it nonetheless.
News immediately leaks, deeply
upsetting Drew, who has worked hard between seasons, in order to become “the
best he’s ever been.” Those disappointed also include Ray Jennings (Arian
Foster), who wants to join the Browns as a legacy player, following in the
footsteps of HIS daddy (Terry Crews); and Louisiana outside linebacker Vontae
Mack (Chadwick Boseman), who has two adorable nephews. (That’s character
development, donchaknow.)
Mack also might have some insider
knowledge suggesting that Callahan isn’t all that he’s reputed to be.
Callahan, Drew, Jennings and
Mack. Let’s pause for a moment, and consider this: All the hundreds of young
athletes who participate in Draft Day each year, all the potential side stories
that could derive from introducing oh, say, at least a dozen of them — even if
only briefly, in some cases — and our inept screenwriters limit themselves to
these four. And only these four.
Which means, of course, that we
can choreograph this film’s outcome, given the various good person/bad person
auras assigned to each young player.
But apparently that isn’t a
problem, because Reitman and casting director John Papsidera expect us dim-bulb
viewers to be distracted by all the famous football folks who parade through
the picture. Hey, looka there: It’s Jim Brown! Ray Lewis! Commissioner Roger
Goodell! Wow, isn’t this movie authentic?
If only it were that simple.
The central relationship angst
percolating between Sonny and Ali remains so distracting that we can’t really
appreciate the finesse our hero employs, to secure precisely what he wants for
his team. By the time we reach the crowd-pleasing climax — wow, what a plot
twist; didn’t see that coming! — Reitman has squandered too many opportunities
to build actual suspense. We simply don’t care.
Garner does reasonably well as
the detail-oriented Ali; she is, at least, an intelligent and sympathetic
character, and one suspects — as Garner plays her — that she’d be a better
general manager than Sonny. Ellen Burstyn has a thankless role as Sonny’s
mother, who also chooses this day to bug her son about giving dear ol’ dad a
proper eulogy, as his ashes are scattered on the practice field. (Say what?)
Rosanna Arquette shares this moment during an eyeblink cameo as Sonny’s
ex-wife: another pointless character.
Leary actually should have been
an excellent choice as Penn, but the actor is hamstrung by Reitman’s desire to
obtain a family-friendly PG-13 rating. Few can match Leary in full-rant mode,
and Penn’s tirades should be peppered with richly imaginative levels of
profanity, but — alas — the character feels oddly emasculated. Another opportunity
lost.
Sam Elliott is his crusty best as
Callahan’s former coach, and Pat Healy is mildly amusing as Sonny’s
inexperienced counterpart in Jacksonville, Fla. (Home of the JAGUARS!).
It’s sad, really. Much has been
made of the NFL’s cooperation with this project: a rare move by a corporate
entity that rarely dabbles in Hollywood. I can’t help wondering if this pact
involved bad choices akin to the flawed decisions Sonny confronts in this
story, and if NFL lawyers insisted on too many artistic concessions.
Whatever the reason, Draft Day is too dumbed-down to be enlightening, instructive or entertaining. Which begs
the question: Why did everybody bother?
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