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.
