Review #1523: Any Given Sunday.
Cast:
Al Pacino (Tony D'Amato), Cameron Diaz (Christina Pagniacci), Dennis Quaid (Jack 'Cap' Rooney), James Woods (Dr. Harvey Mandrake), Jamie Foxx (Willie Beamen), LL Cool J (Julian Washington), Matthew Modine (Dr. Ollie Powers), Jim Brown (Montezuma Monroe), Lawrence Taylor (Luther 'Shark' Lavay), Bill Bellamy (Jimmy Sanderson), Andrew Bryniarski (Patrick 'Madman' Kelly), Lela Rochon (Vanessa Struthers), Lauren Holly (Cindy Rooney), Ann-Margret (Margaret Pagniacci), Aaron Eckhart (Nick Crozier) Directed by Oliver Stone (#095 - Wall Street, #1090 - Platoon, and #1265 - Natural Born Killers)
Review:
"I love intelligent films that come at you fast. I don't have attention deficit disorder, my mind moves fast. There's a lot to deal with in my films. We had so many facts to go through, so the governing style was flash, cut, flash, repeat."
One needs to see a bit of distinct vision every now and then from a director, and Oliver Stone closed out his 20th century with another distinct focus in football. He had been a student at Yale University before doing service in Vietnam first through teaching students English in Saigon to wiping Merchant Marine ships to dropping out of Yale and enlisting in the United States Army. He went into New York University after that and graduated with a film degree in 1971. He made his first film as a director with the cheapie Seizure (1974) before getting the chance to write Midnight Express (1978), which resulted in an Academy Award for his script despite inaccuracies of the depiction of the real-life prison story. The Hand (1981) followed for Stone as a director, but the five years between this and his next was crucial, since he wrote Conan the Barbarian (1982) and Scarface (1983) in that time. He rocketed to further prominence with Platoon (1986) that kept him busy over the prevailing years, with this being his 15th as director/writer. He has touched subjects such as war with Salvador (1986), biopics with The Doors (1991), to crime with Natural Born Killers (1994), all seeming distinct in their provocative nature by Stone.
I wonder if Stone wanted to make the ultimate football film. What we have here is truly a hodgepodge of clichés and assumptions you can have in a sports film, right from an upstart rookie becoming a star and then needing to not become consumed in arrogance, a wearied wise coach (perhaps like Tom Landry?), action montages, and even having actual athletes as stars (of which there are several notable ones of the past like Lawrence Taylor or Johnny Unitas). Stone had first expressed an interest in a football project with an early 1980s script about an old linebacker he wrote in mind for Charles Bronson. Years later, he met journalist Richard Weiner. He had developed a script with former player Jamie Williams about a black quarterback. This would be combined with scripts done by John Logan and Daniel Pyne alongside inspiration from You're Okay, It's Just a Bruise by Robert Huzienga Jr (former team physician of the Los Angeles Raiders detailing player injuries); Stone and Logan would get screenplay credit while Pyne and Logan got story and Weiner and Williams were consultants. This frenzy also applies to editing, since there are four listed as part of the film. Stone clearly was under the mindset that football was somehow like war, particularly with how it marched on as a team together as opposed to individual only, while also seeing the other sides of football life (like the pain and egos). On a basic level, I would say that this is a decent movie, wrapped with making an involving film packing an ensemble worthy of carrying most of its weight that Stone wants to put on them on and off the field that can be fairly entertaining. Of course it also is considerably lengthy at 162 minutes (157 for the director's cut, in which twelve minutes were cut for pacing while adding six minutes of other scenes) with a self-importance like no other in its presentation of football players as the modern gladiator (complete with a brief flash of Ben-Hur to drive home the point) with all of the excesses that come from Stone's view on the matter. It is firmly a film of the 1990s in all the right and weird ways, one that I chuck a smile at when it stops doing flashes of editing and focuses on just the basics.
Pacino does quite well with the material required in garnering a leader one could rally around in all of the moods required, whether that involves weary loneliness or stubborn dominance that seems fairly convincing in rally curiosity. Diaz matches him in cleverness that never seems like a doorstep to forget about, a figure of new-school arrogance that does seem quite amusing. Quaid does fine with a man on his last leg of fame (and perhaps health) - respectable without being drowned in pity. Woods doesn't have too much to really do, but he is quite a conniving figure behind the lines that has one really good scene to munch on involving him being caught in a lie about the health of the players. Foxx (picked after Sean Combs lost the role apparently because he couldn't throw a football) captures the bravado of a rising star and all that comes with it in good detail, whether that involves brimming confidence or sparring words with anyone. Others such as Cool J and Taylor make the best of their time on screen in charm and coarse acting that resonate the siding of the football action in its business and excess. It can't quite keep every thread going without being a bit lost, but at least its numerous showing of games do look fairly convincing (hits and all) within a fictionalized football league (in the year 2001 no less). It still has a punch when it comes to the TV-infected sensationalism and other various topics, and it definitely seems willing enough to want to inspire a thought without bashing your head with it. On the whole, it lumbers to points about football gladiators and its exploitation a bit too much, but it does work itself enough to win out in the end.
Next Time: We venture into the 21st century.
Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.
