[rating=4.00]
Sports movies occupy a strange place in the cinematic lexicon. They’re a pretty safe bet, from a marketing perspective—take one likable underdog, add a coach with unorthodox thinking, throw in a stark personal struggle and a couple of montages, and voila. There’s a kind of warm feeling the masses get from seeing someone accomplish great things with a ball in unlikely ways, and by now the formula is pretty set. If you tell me I’m to watch a new movie about a sports hero, real or imagined, I can probably pretty accurately give you a beat by beat prognostication of what to expect. And so it is with My All American.
I don’t think I can precisely call it a bad movie—it hits the right notes it needs in order to appeal to its demographic—so much as I can call it an uninteresting movie. Arguably, that says more about me than it does the movie, but that feels pretty relevant. You can tell a lot about a movie based on who does and does not enjoy it, and I’ll freely admit that my disdain for My All American may be a good indication that others will get caught up in its sweet melodramatics and heart tugging sentimentalism. Hey, no judgment. If it’s your thing then it’s your thing, and I wish you god speed and enjoyment.
Me though? I could smell the mediocrity before the movie even began, and my suspicions were confirmed from the outset.
My All American tells the true story of Freddie Steinmark (Finn Wittrock), the sort of corn-fed all-American white boy who plays football because, well, of course he does. From his wide and bright toothy grin and his perfectly well-manicured hair, you can tell that football is his passion and that, from an early age, it’s the only thing he ever wanted to do. (Granted, we also know that because he tells us that, from an early age, it’s the only thing he ever wanted to do.) He’s great on the field and off, and works extra hours every day to ensure that he’s the best and fastest on the field. This technique does wonders for him in high school, but his short stature is a problem once it’s time to think about college, and none of his top choices want anything to do with him. Then, University of Texas football coach Darrell Royal (Aaron Eckhart) offers him a full scholarship. Steinmark becomes an integral part of Royal’s new offensive strategy and helps lead the team to a legendary year of college football. At the worst possible moment, however, a shocking diagnosis threatens to derail Steinmark’s success, his future, and his life.
Having lived in Texas—where football actually is king—all my life, Steinmark’s story has always been a sort of inspirational tale that coaches tell their students on the field and in the classroom. Putting aside my cynicism for the moment, his story is, in fact, an inspirational tale about living life to its fullest and giving your all even the face of the darkest of obstacles. I can see where Hollywood was interested. Moreover, I can see where writer/director Angelo Pizzo, who’s built his career writing sports classics like Hoosiers and Rudy, would want to tackle this particular story.
The problem is that the formula weighs too heavily on the narrative. No ground is broken. The game remains unchanged. I guess there’s a kind of comfort in familiarity, but why does literally every sports movie have to be the same? Royal and Steinmark’s success are owed to the fact that neither of them played football in a way that other teams could predict. So why is their movie so easy to predict? Unlike his subjects, Pizzo plays it completely safe, following a certain set of rules—rules that, admittedly, he helped write—and creating a by the numbers narrative that never once attempts to rise to new heights.
Perhaps that’s unfair of me. Maybe it’s too much to ask. I’m not sure it is though. At this point, it never matters the sport or the subject matter. Much like biopics, sports movies are pretty easy to make and to sell strictly because of the formula. You just know before you watch it that the hero is going to get a standing ovation from an entire stadium by the end of the movie, and My All American doesn’t disappoint. That, in itself, is a disappointment.
On top of that, the film is loaded with forced nostalgia and sentiment, both of which, admittedly, should play well into the hands of My All American’s demographic. Say what you will about the Pizzo aesthetic, the man knows his audience and he gives them what they want. He takes you back to the supposed time when America was great, citizens were wholesome, and the nation came together for the joy of football. It’s a nice thought, for sure, and it serves the movie well enough, but the whole experience is rather underwhelming, even with a solid performance from Eckhart.
But again, I’m probably in no position to judge. As I’m sure I’ve made clear, sports movies just don’t do it for me, and they probably won’t as long as they refuse to add twists on the classic formula. To my mind, that particular niche of movies might as well be dead. But you’re not me. Maybe you aren’t overloaded with cynicism and maybe you enjoy the sports movie classics for what they are. That’s perfectly okay. In all honesty, you’ll probably enjoy My All American and walk away from it with a rejuvenated sense of passion and joy for life. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cheer, you’ll do all the things that the movie wants you to do, and you’ll have a good time doing it. Have at it, if that’s your thing. You know better than I do.
My All American is in theaters now.
