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The exciting baseball story is sensational, imbued by director Sam Raimi with, alas, a greater love than any conventional tale of amour can compete with; hence the accompanying little romance doesn't stand a chance. Sports aficionados will forgive the film its resulting dual nature for the sake of crackerjack diversion. But for the intolerant segment of the artsy-craftsy set as well as the clueless unwashed who contend that "baseball is just too slow," For Love of the Game will be a rain-out.
Handsomely directed and beautifully photographed despite those inherent flaws provided by screenwriter Dana Stevens, the saga of 19-year veteran pitcher Billy Chapel (Kevin Costner) at the crossroads of his career is a vibrant variation on a very traditional sports movie theme. Instead of the story leading up to the big game, this is the big game.
As the Detroit Tigers ace right-hander hurls what could be his last 9 innings in the majors, he flashes back on everything that has brought him to this all-or-nothing juncture in his celebrated life. Sporting slight shades of The Natural, a hint of mysticism fills Yankee Stadium. Because on this very special occasion, Costner's superbly realised athlete has, as any baseball scout might observe, "the goods." Painful though they may be to deliver, his fast ball is hopping as never before, his curve makes the gal on your mechanic's calendar look like a boy.
Although the chemistry between Miss Preston's Jane and Mr. Costner's Billy is lacklustre and the melodramatic dialogue stale -- as if borrowed from something Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson might have fashioned in the '50s -- director Raimi adroitly employs memories of the intertwining love affair as a catalytic mechanism for his cinematic baseball fantasy.
It's high noon in the House That Ruth Built. His pitches punctuated by personal history, proud Billy Chapel is the archetypal hero, alone on the mound with his hopes, fears, conquests and regrets. A remembrance of love interest Jane Aubrey (Kelly Preston) leaving him to pursue an editorial job in London puts an extra bit of heat on his slider; a calming vision of his Dad's patient tutelage gives him the sagacity to outsmart a particularly terrorising batter.
The cliché is as entertaining as it is obvious. And while equally predictable, the incorporation of familiar ball club types peppers the plot. Adding just the right hint of glib is John C. Reilly as faithful catcher Gus Sinski, the perennially unshaven Sancho Panza to our big league Don Quixote. And J.K. Simmons is appropriately dim-witted as Frank Perry, the single-minded Tigers manager. But what really glues it all together is Vin Scully as himself, the play-by-play announcer whose colourful commentary ostensibly serves as the film's narrative soul. While a best supporting actor nomination for the baseball broadcaster par excellence may seem a bit novel, it is nonetheless deserved.
And despite the obvious shortcomings at her end of the script, Miss Preston's single mom with a mission provides a functional counterpoint to the superstar protagonist. He is the lonely prince; she is Cinderella by way of Donna Karan.
Which brings us to Kevin Costner, here performing the third leg of his baseball film hat trick. Amidst boos, catcalls and cries of "stereotype" from dyspeptic detractors, Mr. Costner has now cornered the market on pro athlete portrayals. His obscenely self-indulgent efforts (Waterworld, The Postman), outrageous as they are, will more than likely slip through the cracks of movie history. The jock characterisations are what he'll be remembered for. There are worse fates. For corroboration consult Basil Rathbone (Sherlock Holmes), Lew Ayres (Dr. Kildare) and Sidney Toler or Warner Oland (Charlie Chan) at the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Gleaning elements from both Bull Durham and Field Of Dreams, Costner's character in For Love of the Game is part realistic, part sports chimera. Thus while men will readily identify with the contemporary gladiator's bittersweet plight, women who find the vulnerable heartthrob irresistible will once again be enchanted. Eureka, the perfect his and hers date night flick, prosaic hearts and flowers notwithstanding. Enough said. Play ball!
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