The Heart of the Game

God bless documentary filmmakers who have an eye for an interesting story, the tenacity to hold on for years as it develops and the good fortune to stumble into even better stories along the way. The Heart of the Game begins as a profile of a new and unconventional head coach, Bill Resler, as he takes over a Seattle high school girls’ basketball program. In the ensuing SEVEN YEARS, while Resler finds his feet and the players come of age and the drama builds to a perfect climax, the story widens to include, literally, the trials of one his players as she fights to retain her eligibility to play ball.

You'll be inspired by the wide-eyed, mile-a-minute enthusiasm of these girls as they talk about how savagely they want to destroy their opponents and how much basketball means to them. You'll be warmed by the whole-life approach Resler takes to the game. And make sure to watch the deleted scene entitled “Jade.” You'll be moved when you learn how narrowly Resler reconsidered the hard line he thought he needed to take with her, and the difference it made in her life.

This movie is dynamite. And it blows Jesus Camp out of the gym. Why it wasn’t nominated for an academy award I don’t understand.

300: The Legend of Ron Burgundy

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Fast Food Nation

Strong cast. Wilmer Valderrama proves he’s a lot more than Fez. Catalina Sandino Moreno (Maria Full of Grace) tears your heart out again. Greg Kinnear continues to eat Tom Hanks’ Happy Meal as the American Everyman. And Bruce Willis and Luis Guzman (a personal favorite) turn in slyly vicious supporting performances.

Cool director, Richard Linklater, who’s mostly hit, but sometimes miss for me. Hit: Slacker, SubUrbia, Before Sunrise/Sunset, School of Rock. Miss: Waking Life, A Scanner Darkly.

And a great book by our Upton Sinclair, Eric Schlosser. If you read it and want more, check out Reefer Madness: Sex, Drugs and Cheap Labor in the American Black Market. And the author note inside explains he’s currently working on a book about the American prison system. I can’t wait.

So I was disappointed to find that this is not so much a movie as a public service announcement first and a dramatic narrative second. The connections between the storylines are forced. No one story is given enough time to breathe. There’s just too much material to get through. You could easily spin two or three movies out of what’s here: the illegals, Greg Kinnear’s world, maybe the student radicals.

And if you’re going to make a fast food movie, why not go with Super Size Me? You could stick goofy-charming Morgan Spurlock in a cape; give him a frickin’ laser. Or at least a laser pointer. It would be tight. You could make the case that I’m a victim of my great expectations here, and my girlfriend would agree with you. But I suggest you read the book and leave it at that.

Marie Antoinette

Kirsten Dunst usually feels cast a little out of her depth, but here her lightness matches the material. And god bless Sofia Coppola and what, after Lost in Translation’s opening shot and now this, we can call her emblematic behind (say it with me, “BEE-hind”) shots. Jason Schwartzman, nepotistically blessed or not, is just right as a repressed Louis XVI. And there are lots of solid, supporting performances from Steve Coogan, Rip Torn, Danny Huston; even little Molly Shannon.

But what you’ve come for here are the production values. Coppola was allowed to shoot in the real deal Holyfield Palace of Versailles, and it’s beautiful. And you could just never duplicate the long shots of the grounds. The costume and pastry designers seem to have gotten together to make the first half of the movie look like a delicious pink cupcake. During the second half, which finds Marie spending time at her retreat on the palace grounds, Petit Trianon, the shots and lighting and costumes take on a naturalistic feel. It’s as if Marie, freed from the repression of courtly expectations, wanders into a Terence Malick movie. You get two, two, two movies in one.

The plot is almost unimportant. Marie’s adrift in her new home, with an inept, inattentive husband, she’s burdened by the expectation that she’ll bear an heir to head off war between France and her Austrian homeland, which is difficult to do when your husband takes 6 years to put his first, awkward move on you, blah blah blah. This is a throwaway grrrl power movie that will be scored by Avril Lavigne when it’s remade in 2027. But, oh, you pretty things.

By the way, I've used the CD soundtrack cover art above for obvious reasons. I mean, how fugly is the US poster?!

The Evolution of The Netflix Mailer

In my wanderings through some other folks' blogs, I found this article and spiffy little slideshow documenting the evolution of the Netflix mailer.

Suicide Girls

First blush: “Woo-hoo! Softcore on Netflix.” Sad realization: “Yawn. Softcore on Netflix.” Work things out with a Girls Gone Wild infomercial and save yourself the three day turnaround.

I know this whole Suicide Girls movement is supposed to be about empowerment and demonstrating that alternatively decorated modern primitives are objectifiable too. Well guess what? It worked. Consider yourself objects that just aren't doing it for me. And you need a bath. Raaawk!

The Devil's Rejects

The terror is good and creepy. The characters are thin. Why do they do what they do? Who knows.

Sid Haig and Bill Moseley are well cast. You're drawn to them, which serves the anti-heroism. But why do we care about any of this? I feel dirty.