Image Credit: Pam Roth.

This is the third article in our examination of the AFI’s Ten Top Tens. You can read the introduction here, the first article in the series on animation here, and the second article in the series on romantic comedies here.

I thought that the Sports genre would be the most appropriate to discuss this week as we enjoy the last few days of the 2008 Olympic Games.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the competitive table tennis matches, badminton marathons, trampoline tumblers, and synchronized swimmers.  It’s really a shame there haven’t been more movies made of these global favorites.  Except for the timeless classic Balls of Fury, of course.

Probably the most “Olympic” oriented film that I enjoy, rather discreetly I might add, is Stick It.  It is the directorial debut of Jessica Bendinger, who also wrote the film as well as Bring It On.  Stick It is the coming-of-age story about Haley Graham (Missy Peregrym) who is a juvenile delinquent coming to terms with her role as a world-class gymnast.

After she’s arrested for trespassing and criminal damage to property, she’s sentenced to a boot camp style gymnastics training facility (although they all are we learn) owned by former gymnast and resident hard-ass Burt Vickerman (Jeff Bridges).  Most of the film is a bickering session between Haley and Vickerman concerning their differences in philosophy and style.  And with an earlier glimpse at Haley’s life and parentage -or lack of- we see that Vickerman plays the surrogate father by looking out for her and keeping her best interests at heart.  By the end, there are all hearts and flowers and warm feelings as fits with the rather formulaic structure.  But I don’t mean that to be derogatory.

Bendinger does an excellent job of handling the formula and working well within the parameters of a well-established genre.  At the center of all Sports films is character.  Bendinger and Peregrym both do a magnificent job of providing depth and emotion for the character.  Jeff Bridges of course holds his own against a strong competitor by taking the “experienced” route with regards to his counterpart.

Stick It was not one on the Netflix queue, nor was it one that I was hopping in line for at the theater.  It, for me, was a special television selection in the mid-morning hours of a weekday.  There’s really nothing better than that sort of surprise.  And I’ve seen it several times since with joy which gives it the old “marriage” quality stamp.  (I’ve really become something of a polygamous glut, huh?)

The movie, unfortunately, made nothing at the box office and I imagine it made little money any other place as well.  It’s relatively new, so any type of historical significance is lost on it and it did not actually innovate on the filmic art.  Yet, it’s on my list of forgotten favorites; which naturally disqualifies it for our AFI Ten Top Ten Sports films.  But this is America, dammit.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door

Perhaps one day, I’ll provide a list to you of the most awesomely over-looked movies ever (or at least that I’ve seen).  Stick It will surely be on it.

Here are the ones that made the “real” list:

Rank	Film	Year
1	Raging Bull	1980
2	Rocky	1976
3	The Pride of the Yankees	1942
4	Hoosiers	1986
5	Bull Durham	1988
6	The Hustler	1961
7	Caddyshack	1980
8	Breaking Away	1979
9	National Velvet	1944
10	Jerry Maguire	1996

(list courtesy of Wikipedia)

Most of the films on the list are ones I absolutely love.  Rocky for one.  Who doesn’t love Rocky?  Jerry Maguire for two.  Think what you want of Tom Cruise, Jerry Maguire is just plain fun.  Even Tiger Woods parodies Caddyshack for a Buick commercial.  If history’s greatest golfer endorses a golf movie, it’s sort of difficult to deny its effect on the genre.  To that end, Babe Ruth, history’s greatest baseball player, has a role in The Pride of the Yankees.  What high school basketball team doesn’t use Hoosiers for inspiration and team-building?  I know.  Not one.  And Bull Durham.  Bull Durham.  I credit Bull Durham with giving me my voice; it was modeled off of Crash Davis:

I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curveball, high fiber, good scotch, that novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent overrated crap.  I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.  I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing astroturf and the designated hitter.  I believe in the sweet-spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.  Good night.

So, sorry mom and dad about my smart, vulgar mouth, but you shouldn’t have introduced me to Bull Durham.  (Seriously, they did. I first watched this movie with them when I was like, eight years old.) Yeah, sorry mom and dad, but thank you Ron Shelton.

I’m pretty indifferent to The Hustler, and I thought that The Color of Money was a decent spin-off.  National Velvet and Breaking Away grate on my nerves a bit.  For one, I don’t care about horse racing, which I think is a cruel enterprise, or cycling.  Even Lance Armstrong’s bid for seven Tour de France titles couldn’t get me interested in the sport.  However, my bias can’t deny the magnitude of the two films, however badly the sports irritate me.

Where I draw the line, though, is in the movie itself.  If the movie itself irritates me, then it’s fair game. When it comes to sports flicks, the center of the film is character.  The central character has a greater impact on the story then perhaps in any other genre.  In no other genre, too, is it so important that we care about that character.  That he or she has character and substance.

Alonzo (Denzel Washington) in Training Day doesn’t turn us off to the movie despite his overwhelming flaws.  Granted, he’s the bad guy and we cut him some slack so long as he gets what’s coming to him.  Maybe a better example is Jimmy Markum (Sean Penn) in Mystic River.  Well, maybe not, but you get the point.  Liking him isn’t nearly as important as his role in the story.  In crime dramas, that’s perfectly acceptable.  It just isn’t so in sports.

Everyone just loves Robert De Niro and Raging Bull.  I won’t argue about De Niro as he broke the mold, or close enough, with the dedication and care taken with his characters.  Going to extreme lengths to transform himself physically, not just mentally, and being one of the first to do so, is remarkable.  But actors don’t make the movie.  Movies are collaborative.  And to be in a list like this, the movie must have it all.  Raging Bull does not. 

“It all” first and foremost requires a likable protagonist, as discussed above, or at least one that the audience can relate to.  He can be an evil serial killer, but there has to be something that connects him to me.  Like I said, this is especially true in sports flicks.  Jake La Motta severely lacks this connection.

The movie is okay, but nothing special.  I won’t argue its importance in film history, but in terms of being “one of the best” it is not.  Movies are about audiences.  This movie alienates, not engages, the audience, due largely to the main character.  He’s a jerk and I really don’t care about the crap that happens to him (sorry, that he causes to happen to himself).

On the other hand, Cinderella Man does the opposite.  Maybe it is not as filmically significant as Raging Bull but it certainly is dearer to the audience than the latter.  Russell Crowe matches or exceeds De Niro’s performance and betters him in that the character of James Braddock is admirable and Crowe plays him admirably. 

The film takes place during the Great Depression, and in a time in which everyone quibbles about the definition of “recession”, it reminds us of what hard times really are.  James Braddock is a down and out boxer with a bum hand, struggling to feed his family.  However, during the tough times, he never loses his integrity, keeps his family together and holds his values intact.  Throughout it all, he turns the tide and flips his bad-luck into the American Dream.

Cinderella Man is fresh in mind because a recent article was brought to my attention about a young man, Henry Cejudo, who won Gold for the USA in Olympic 55 kg freestyle wrestling.  His story does not really have any parallels to Braddock’s, but the imagery of wrestling always cues boxing for me.  Something to due with rings.

Although I understand that Olympic wrestling and Professional wrestling are not at all the same, I can’t help it.  It’s a serial connection.  The word “wrestling” triggers an image of a wrestling ring, which in turn, makes me think of boxing.  Also, whenever I think of boxing, I think of Rocky and Cinderella Man, as they are two of my favorite boxing movies.  Cinderella Man takes place during the Great Depression, and thinking about that always makes me think of the hardships of the Industrial Age.  Thinking about that selfishly makes me consider my own heritage and of Irish immigration which largely took place during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

This is where the connection is complete.  Cejudo is apparently the son of illegal immigrants.  Apparently, immigration is a huge issue these days, but I don’t know why.  I don’t understand the issue.  I am clearly out of touch.  I’m not an immigrant, legal or otherwise.  Neither are my parents.  But I don’t have to reach back too far to find the link in my ancestry who was.  We’re all sons or daughters of immigrants at some time.  Aren’t we? 

When you see the image of Cejudo clinging to the American flag, the issue dissolves away.  To me, his triumph is symbolic of all that his parents hoped for.  He is the embodiment of the American Dream.  Just like Braddock.  Deport his parents if needed, their son is American.  And that’s all they ever wanted.  That’s all WE ever wanted.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!