Rollerball (1975)

In 2018 super-corporations rule the world in a soulless oligopoly as every need is served by nameless businesses. Government and freedom of choice is dead. Citizen-consumers are told to do their part and buy, buy, and obey, making the corporations even wealthier. It’s the dream world of the modern Koch Brothers, Consumers United, and right-wing GOP greed. I digress, but that’s the world behind 1975’s “Rollerball,” a futuristic nightmare flick that focuses on a roller rink blood sport that’s like basketball on wheels, with spikes, motor bikes, and death. James Caan is Jonathan, the Michael Jordon of the sport, a long-time veteran at the top of the game. Until the Corporate Gods tell him to stop. Why? No man can rise against the Corporate Elite. Damn, this is a fine premise. It’s predictions are crazy eerie. The film itself, directed by Norman Jewison? A dud. Caan -– who can deny his screen power? -– appears bored, the pace glacial, and the cheapo imagery amateurish. Oh, there’s a fantastic bit that foresees the rise of the ’Net and the fall of books, but like the Koch Brothers warning, it belongs in a better movie. C+

The Natural (1984)

Not just a classic baseball movie, “The Natural” is an American fable as fantastical as Paul Bunyan or Superman. Quintessential American actor Robert Redford plays Roy Hobbs, a middle-aged (35!) man who finally climbs to the majors to become the “best that ever came or will be” on the diamond. He can pitch like a tank, and hits balls -– with his own bat carved from a tree stuck by lightening –- like Ruth. Years earlier Hobbs was on his way to young stardom when a woman shot him out of spite, before committing suicide. Hobbs has buried the past, but is not ashamed of it, for it does not define him. Yes, Roy is waylaid and deceived, and Homer’s “Odyssey” is name-dropped and shadows the story, complete with a Cyclops (Darren McGavin plays a crooked investor with a glass eye). Directed by Barry Levinson, shot by Caleb Deschanel, and scored by Randy Newman, this is a superhero film for guys who think a baseball cap is just as good as a red cape. Corny? Sentimental? Obvious? Absolutely. But I recently re-watched it to the outside sounds of fireworks and thunder. I felt as if a child, peaking at God. A

42 (2013)

The story of Jackie Robinson -– the first African-American to cross the color line in baseball and swing a bat at a bunch of white guys –- needs no embellishments. It is one of the greatest of American stories, a man finding love, fame, strength, and most vital of all respect after sustaining unspeakable hate. But in Hollywood, every story needs a rewrite. OK, writer/director Brian Helgeland (he co-wrote “L.A. Confidential”) has a good film with “42,” and I cheered on newcomer Chadwick Boseman as Robinson, despite knowing every outcome, but the “clap here!” music score deafens, Robinson is treated like Jesus, and the go-capitalists! whack-off vibe reeks. Never mind the stock side characters: The gold-hearted mentor (Harrison Ford), the bus loads of reject bigots, and the one guy who must be reborn. “42” hits high marks, though, when it shows baseball as a, yes, glorious American pastime (long past?), but one marked with sin, as is all of America. Check the scenes across the American Northeast –- not just the South -– that show the extent of prejudice, and awe when rage overtakes Robinson. In Philly. Well done that. The title, and all its meanings, is simple brilliance. B

Senna (2011)

I am ignorant of racing, especially Formula One. But “Senna,” an ESPN-produced documentary of the famed Brazilian race car driver Aryton Senna is a whooper, a heartbreaking, nail-biting tale of a man who committed and gave up his life to a sport he loved. It’s also a damnation of the vampire-like capitalists that run the sports as a business, putting profit, ticket sales and media attention above the safety of its athletes. Using home movies, TV clips, and interviews with family, friends, former rivals, and journalists, director Asif Kapadia and his crew of editors re-create the life of man who was kindly, arrogant, deeply religious, a playboy, deeply vindictive, funny, and blunt. More so, this is about a son of Brazil lifting the hopes of a desperately divided nation with every turn of the wheel. And when Senna makes his final turn in racing, and in life, the scene gut-punches with the dreadful knowledge that life can end in an instant. A-

Moneyball (2011)

What better time to see “Moneyball” than now? World Series! Baseball is in its glory, when even the folks who don’t care a whiff about RBIs suddenly start paying attention to the diamond drama. And this is a solid out of left field drama that avoids the tired comedy antics of “Major League” and focuses solely inside the back offices. (That said, this is no “Bull Durham.” But what sports film is?)

It's 2001 and Oakland Athletics’ GM Billy Beane is coming off a post-season crushing by the Yankees. His top players bolted for greener pastures, money –wise and location-wise. He needs replacements. STAT. But his recruiting budget is a third of the Yankees’. So, how the hell can Beane compete? That’s the gist of “Moneyball,” where Beane – played by Brad Pitt in a powerfully understated Everyman tone – goes against the biblical rules of baseball scouts, and instead relies on the “get on Base” mantra of one Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), an economics geek. If you know baseball, you know the rest. The As start the season awful, with a piss-ant coach (Philip Seymour-Hoffman, head shaved and crusty) ruining the lineup. Beane must take control.

Co-written by Aaron Sorkin and Steve Zallian, “Moneyball” is about any passion or business – pizza-making, movie-making, banking or professional sport – steam-rolled by Big Money, all the joy and unknowns crushed under consumer surveys and greed. The baseball scenes are almost beside the point as Beane never watches the games. That said, the tumults of an imploded 11-0 lead make for damn fine filmmaking by director Bennet Miller, who made “Capote.” Yeah, the ending goes long in the bottom of the ninth, but it is painless.

I cannot say enough how much I dug Pitt’s performance, and Hill is brilliant, who knew? What an amazing, quiet, smart performance he gives. Bravo, sir! The camaraderie between the two men is often awkwardly funny, including a scene where Beane teaches Brand how to fire players -- guys twice Brand’s size and who carry bats. The dialogue, as expected from Zallian and Sorkin, pops like a fly ball that never comes down. A-

Warrior (2011)

“Warrior” is a two-for-one “Rocky” tale set inside the metal cages of Mixed Martial Arts. Tom Hardy is Rocky 1, a hulking slab of muscle and seething anger named Tommy Riordan, returned home to visit his Found Jesus father (Nick Nolte), a recovering alcoholic whose past sins run deep. In Philly is Rocky 2, Brendan Conlon (Joel Edgerton), an ex-MMA pro now teaching high school physics. The kicker: The men are brothers, split apart by the old man’s carnage. Directed by Gavin O’Connor, who made “Miracle,” the movie plays with every sport film cliché around from the loyal wife to the hero with a dark secret. Nolte’s listening to “Moby Dick” on CD pushes the edge of symbolism, that white whale being his sin. It could have been cut. But like “Miracle,” this is a go-ahead-and-cheer film with the brother-against-brother final bout dishing out drama that hurts. Nolte plays regret so well, and Edgerton (“Animal Kingdom”) is heroic as the underdog fighting to pay the mortgage. But this is Hardy’s film. He stalks and defeats opponents with a Raging Bull glare, and builds on the grisly prison flick “Bronson” and his scene-stealing from “Inception.” He’s up next as the steroid-crazed Bane in “Dark Knight Rises.” Batman better watch his back. B

The Fighter and Animal Kingdom (2010)

I just watched two films that show the far-end extreme of warped close-knit families -- people related by blood, birth and marriage, but who mix like gasoline and matches. Yet they abide by each other. Both shock with volatile material, especially with the mothers on display. Gems? No. These are jagged, precious chunks of broken glass that cut deep. One more than the other.

Among boxing films there is “Raging Bull” and “Rocky” and everything else. “The Fighter” doesn’t reach those levels, but it stays in the ring. Few boxing flicks even try. This is a true story, where the underdog boxer hero has to overcome Job-worthy troubles to win the belt. And you know how that turns out, right?

Mark Wahlberg -– built, tough and coolly in control -– is Micky Ward, a street worker who can’t see his boxing dream amid all the empty factories of his dead New England town. Micky’s deepest battles aren’t in the boxing ring, but at home. His former-boxer brother (Christian Bale) is a crack addict, his mother (Melissa Leo) is a tyrant who can’t disapprove of Dicky and all his druggy shtick.

It’s a gripping ride. The Ward family –- including seven freakish sisters -– can be harsh to watch, but is endlessly fascinating. (This despite the fugly sisters falling into mimicry.) The boxing scenes have -- bad pun -- punch. It’s also a darkly funny. Dicky has a repeated gag where he jumps out a crack house second-story window. It’s pathetic and induces laughter. But when mom catches him, it’s heart-breaking. Truly hilarious: A scene where Micky and his girlfriend (Amy Adams) rip snobby films. Ironic as “Fighter” will win several Oscars. Bale and Leo outlast every round against a top-of-their-game cast. A-

“Animal Kingdom” is the movie “The Town” wanted to be, before it went soft with sentimentality and unearned romance. “Animal” rages and gets darker and scarier, and sadder, too, as its minutes tick by. It’s 2010’s only crime film that can be held up as near flawless.

The film opens with a Melbourne teen (James Frecheville) sitting on a couch, watching TV. The viewer only thinks mom next to him is asleep. But she’s dead. Heroin. That’s before the credit role. J –- his nickname –- then has to reintroduce himself to grandmom (Jacki Weaver), and so he goes to live with her and his gang of uncles. They are a literal gang: Bank robbers, drug dealers and killers. The most dangerous of the uncles is “Pope” (Ben Mendelsohn), a fiercely quiet man who could hug or kill with equal aplomb, depending on the mood.

Written and directed by David Michôd, “Kingdom” follows J as he deals with this lot, who to trust and who to flee from, and not at all aware of who really is the largest monster in his life. Guy Pearce (“Memento”) is a cop who tries to pull J out of the lion’s den. There always is a cat-and-mouse game.

Nothing is amped up. No fancy edits. No exploding armored truck or hot air balloon chase. It’s emotion and body language, and double-edge words. It’s topped with scenes that smacked me in the skull even as I saw where the action was going a beat or two before. As the grandmom, Weaver is crazy good, all kisses and hugs and cookies … but oh so not. The music score -– tense as hell -– makes the film. Wild fact: Similar to “Fighter,” this is based on a true story. A

The Blind Side (2009)

It’s impossible to hate “The Blind Side.” It has a story so uplifting it could make Sarah Palin and Barack Obama fist bump and hug if they double-dated on movie night. The movie’s “based on a true story” tag is the sweet honey in the hot tea. Oh, and it’s got sports. I also saw apple pie in one scene. Hand to God.

The story is well-known: Vastly wealthy Memphis couple Leigh Anne and Sean Tuohy (Sandra Bullock and Tim McGraw) are wildly wealthy conservative Christians with a hugely successful Taco Bell franchise and memberships with the NRA. One cold rainy night, they take in wondering homeless black teen Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron). The boy has never had a true family, a sit-down holiday dinner or even a bed to sleep in. This family is a savior. He needs them. They grow to need him, too.

This story kicks every “rich Republicans are racists” cliché in the teeth. Without a “tsk-tsk” to be heard. And folks like these aren’t normal Hollywood movie fare. Even as a proud liberal, I know the conservative Christian class of America is vastly, wholly underserved by the entertainment community. No wonder the film, directed by feel-good master John Lee Hancock, was a smash hit Oscar winner.

But I digress. Because of the Tuohys’ fortune and compassion, Oher is able to remain at a solid school, obtain a personal study tutor, play high school football and work his way toward college. University, of course, leads to the NFL’s Ravens. (If this is a spoiler, than I welcome you to Planet Earth.)

But it’s equally impossible for me to love “Blind Side.” The screenplay always, without exception, goes for cute, sweet or funny. Even during a major automobile crash. I get it, it’s a movie. An uplifting, “life is beautiful” Hollywood movie lost from the 1950s. But having a skinny-ass 8-year-old white boy running a 300-pound-plus black teen through football scenarios and calisthenics may be LOL funny and aww-so-sweet to some. I found it just damn icky as hell. And I don’t care if everyone swears its fact. It's bull. Throughout, Oher’s character is sidelined for such hi-jinks. Why? This is his story.

Bullock is truly a hoot to watch. She commands the screen as a headstrong woman with the tenacity and will power of a runaway train, who wears boutique clothing to the projects, pistol in purse. Did she deserve the Oscar? Ehhh. No. But you can’t deny it’s a good show she puts on. The real Lynette Twohy apparently is just as thrillingly alive. McGraw, wisely, ducks and covers and just smiles as the husband.

Sadly, the film does the same. B-

Green Street Hooligans (2005)

Elijah Wood puts down his Hobbit sword and picks up his fists in the violent and fascinating, but ultimately heavy-handed, “Green Street Hooligans,” a film about a Yank sucked in by English football firms. But football, I mean soccer. By firms, I mean street gangs that battle royale for their teams.

Wood plays Matt Buckner, a Harvard journalism major bounced out of university for drugs. Matt’s a patsy: Taking the hit for his dorm roommate, a rich boy with political power. Matt sulks his way to England to visit his sister (Claire Forlani), who has a husband, a baby and a spectacular home. She also has brother-in-law (Charlie Hunnam) who is a firm leader.

Matt tags along with Pete for a football match, and before the day is through, finds himself brawling. “Who do you hate,” asks Pete of Matt, who knows who he hates. Matt bleeds. Matt draws blood. Matt’s hooked. For the first time Matt feels like a man alive, his own personal double-decker “Fight Club” vacation. With warm beer and whiskey.

“Green” excels at showing a world I’ve never seen: Lower-class blokes who are poor, lonely or tragic, and place their passions and lives into a sport. Crazy? Yes. But it’s all they have. Alas, the film goes sentimental.

A grisly finale is accompanied by a sappy song, and Wood reads some narration – there’s a time to fight and a time to run – that is older than soccer. Sorry, football. Rich boy gets his comeuppance, of course. But the plot strand is tired: The guy is one of those smarmy coke-head country club Republicans that were cliché when John Belushi started a food fight. Wood makes the film work, remarkably so, making Matt a believable guy you’d meet in a bar. Just don’t call football soccer. B

Big Fan (2009)

What a time to watch the dark comedy “Big Fan.” It follows an obsessed and unhinged New York sports fan with no life outside of rooting for his home team and dumping on the city he loathes: Philadelphia.

This isn’t baseball, though. It’s football. And Paul Aufiero (Patton Oswalt) is a mid-30s parking deck attendant who only lives and breathes for his New York Giants with no cares for women, family or career. His bedroom walls are adorned with a poster of his idol -- the Giants lead QB (Jonathan Hamm). Paul sleeps -- and jerks off -- under a football-themed blanket from childhood. He scribbles fifth-grade-level “slams” into a notebook that he’ll later use for “impromptu” late-night calls to his favorite radio sports chat show. Flag on the play, he’s about to pop.

I won’t divulge writer-director Robert Siegel’s hilarious, creepy and strangely fascinating story, except to say that this filmmaker plays off the audience’s knowledge of “Taxi Driver” and “King of Comedy” – the loner obsessive finally snapping. The ending perfectly fits Paul, even as it slyly undermines audience expectation. A hint: Paul paints his face green and white in the City of Brother Love, wincing as he applies the makeup. Priceless.

Siegel knows his sports fan territory – he’s listened to the sports chat shows and seen the worshipful fans camped outside a stadium watching a game on TV because they can’t cop tickets. If you’ve lived in a sports town – and I have in Philly and Tuscaloosa – you know two or a dozen Pauls, the dream fan who’s made himself a slave to what he loves.

I wish Siegel had laid off the tired New Yawk stereotypes (the over-bearing mother, the older brother who’s an ambulance chasing lawyer with the crass wife) that heavily grate, having delivered a true-to-life screenplay about south New Jersey in “The Wrestler.” These play as well as any Southern barn dance stereotype in, say, “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Oswalt, permanently scarring any memory of his work in “Ratatouille,” brilliantly portrays a pathetic obsessive who sees nothing wrong with his life, lived under a child’s blanket, one ear to the radio, one hand down there, looking up at the poster image of the man he wishes he could be. B+

Chariots of Fire (1981)

I've always been a fan of "Chariots of Fire." I like it, a lot. Now, is it the best of 1981, as the Oscars named it? Not by a long shot. "Raiders of the Lost Ark" has that crown no doubt. But, "Chariots" is good, and it takes on two subjects widely ignored by Hollywood: religion and how one who is religious deals with glory.

Before I go on, let me say that "Chariots" has a huge spot in my heart: The last time I saw either of my grandfathers alive, I kid you not, both men were watching these movies. One in 1983, and the other in 2004. I can't explain it, but it's true.

The film focuses on two Brits competing in the 1924 Olympic track-and-field events, one a devout Scottish Christian named Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson) and the other a devout Jew named Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross). Liddell hails from a missionary family and believes his gift of speed comes from God, and that when he races, he glorifies his Master. Abrahams is the son of a banker and is wealthy for it, but still feels marginalized by the WASP culture of England. Both want gold. The crux of each man: Liddell will not run on the Sabbath, even if it means trashing Oscar glory; Abrahams wants to out run everyone to prove his race is not inferior, but he's not as fast as Liddell.

The film is told in flashbacks within flashbacks and that throws the viewer a curve ball at first, but the framing works. As the film opens, we are at the funeral of Abrahams in the late 1970s and then bounce backward to the 1920s for the famous scene of a few dozen men dressed in white t-shirts and shorts, running on the beach. Vangelis' music in this scene has been played to death, ridiculed and turned cliched, but it works. We then bounce back to 1918, post World War I, to Cambridge college students that include Abrahams and Scottish rurals that include Liddell. We finally work forward to 1924 as Abrahams and Liddell take their separate paths to glory. Whew.

The beauty of this film is in its simplicity, watching two devout men of different religions grapple with their faith and their personal glory is a rare experience. There's no conspiracy nor do terrorists or space aliens appear. The men are devout to family, to God and achieving their best. They are not loons, nor are they greedy or violent. That the film was produced by Muslim Dodi Fayed, who one day would die in a car accident with Princess Di, adds more layers to the film. I also love the editing and build up of the races throughout the film because they seek the viewpoint and memory of what it must be like to be the runner in an Olympian competition. I love the scenes of the man digging with spades to form holes to launch themselves on the track, and of necklaces dangling. Those represent the small details that must stick with an athlete as he goes back over the race in his or her head.

It's a well told tale, but not perfect. I still hate how easily the controversy over Liddell not running on Sunday is solved, and most of the supporting players are ironed flat of personality. Also a few too many guest star spots mean ... nothing. Still, it's a beautiful, well told film. Mind you, it's no "Raiders of the Lost Ark." A-