CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Sidekicks (1992)

When “The Karate Kid” was released in 1984, it gave lame white people all over the world an excuse to embrace martial arts. John G. Avildsen's re-shuffling of his already iconic “Rocky” would also become a surprise hit. It turns out moving the well-worn underdog sports story to a youthful demographic and adding a generous helping of Asian quasi-mysticism was a winning formula. An easily replicated one too, as several similar films emerged in its wake. The second half of the eighties and early nineties contained a surprising number of movies that directly emulated “The Karate Kid's” premise or combined martial arts with a kid-friendly angle. At some point during Cannon's financial free-fall years, the idea emerged of building a new Chuck Norris feature around clips from his other movies. Norris liked the idea enough to hold onto it after Cannon's collapse. With a cash infusion from a Texas mattress mogul, “Sidekicks” came into being by 1992. The film would become a modest box office success and, owning to being a lot less violent than most of Chuck's earlier films, a frequent presence in my childhood VHS player. 

Barry Gabrewski is a socially awkward, asthmatic kid living deep in the heart of Texas. His mother died when he was young and his dad is preoccupied with his computer business. Instead, Barry looks up to karate champ and action movie star Chuck Norris. He often daydreams about being Chuck's sidekicks in his various cinematic adventures. Worried about the boy, Barry's favorite teacher Miss Chan introduces him to her uncle. Lee takes the kid under his wing and begins to train him in martial arts. Barry still fantasizes about being friends with Chuck but he starts to overcome his asthma, draw the attention of a crush, and stands up to his bullies. That includes the protegee of Kelly Stone, the obnoxious asshole sensai of a local karate dojo. Lee and Miss Chan submit Barry into a local martial arts tournament. This not only gives the boy a chance to truly prove himself but also brings him shoulder-to-shoulder with his idol. 

“Sidekicks” does little to dissuade the notion that it was heavily influenced by “The Karate Kid.” This is, after all, the story of a scrawny white kid learning discipline and uncovering his inner strength under the tutelage of a wise old Asian guy. As far as wannabe Daniel-san and Mr. Miyagis go, I think this one is serviceable. It helps that Barry's plight is fairly relatable. He wants the cute girl in his class, who is Winnie Cooper. At the same time, his physical frailness holds him back from self-actualizing as a traditionally masculine man. When the girl outright tells him that she doesn't like him that way but rather feels sorry for him, as someone who was an awkward dweeb in school himself, I know how that feels. “Sidekicks” is as facile a wish fulfillment fantasy as any other action film. Barry does learn to believe in himself, physically bests his bullies, defeats his asthma through the power of karate, and clearly seems to win Danica McKellar's heart. Despite actually fighting alongside his hero, he discards the fantasy father figure of Chuck Norris for his actual father figure at the end, a dramatic turn the script doesn't really earn. If anything, Mr. Lee has been more of a dad to Barry than anyone else. 

However, Barry's frequent fantasies about being Chuck Norris' little buddy does occasionally touch on something more significant. While having an asthma attack that puts him in the hospital, Barry imagines himself as a prisoner-of-war being tortured by some rather Nazi-like officers. He imagines Chuck is there with him, giving him encouragement as imaginary chains tighten around his lungs the way his condition does. Later, while trying to climb the rope in gym, he again daydreams that Norris is there, quietly talking him through how to beat this. Ya know, if you grew up with a deadbeat dad and looked to surrogate father figures in pop culture to fill that void, this is not an entirely unreasonable premise. “Sidekicks” definitely takes Barry's fixation with Norris too far. The way he constantly carries around a beat-up karate magazine is very silly. As is the degree to which he looses himself in his daydreams. However, I do think the film, juvenile as it is, sincerely tries to tap into something deeper about how fiction can help us cope with reality sometimes. 

I'm not suggesting that one of Chuck Norris' family movies is secretly “Cinema Paradiso” or anything. As a comedy, “Sidekicks” is often broad and irritating. Far too much of the film is dependent upon the comedy stylings of Joe Piscopo. He plays the Martin Kove part from “Karate Kid,” the leader of the bad guy dojo who practices martial arts not to achieve inner peace but to physically intimidate people. Piscopo spends the entire film bathed in shiny flop-sweat, grimacing and trying to push his skull out of his face in every scene. During Barry's fantasy sequences, he dresses up in cartoonish outfits and somehow reaches even more grotesque levels of overacting. The “Missing in Action” inspired scene has the future right-wing talk radio host donning yellow face and a questionable accent. Piscopo's villain is set up as an egomaniacal rival ready for the fall against Norris, his defeat being maybe the most ridiculous moment of buffoonery in this motion picture. Or maybe it's the “Hitman” based scene, that sees Piscopo in black leather and chain mail as he fills candy and toys with poison and razor blades. 

These extended fantasy scenes are the main gimmick that separates “Sidekicks” from “The Karate Kid.” For fans of Chuck, that makes the movie a greatest hits reel of sorts. I say “of sorts” because the script seems slightly confused. The “Missing in Action” homage does indeed copy the scene where Norris rises out of murky jungle waters while firing a machine gun in slow motion. The opening sequence is inspired by “The Octagon,” with Norris fighting off a horde of enemy ninjas in some sort of secluded, fortified compound. It adds more outrageous flourishes, like Norris in an all-white ninja costume or a bad guy in an elaborate Noh mask, but the homage is evident. When Chuck and Barry are in trench coats and wielding saw-off shotguns, that's obviously “The Hitman.” However, while the western saloon daydream practically mentions “Lone Wolf McQuade” by name, it is a direct horse opera spoof. Chuck Norris has never done a regular western. He's never done a World War II movie either, which is what the Nazi torture fantasy is presumably going for. 

“Sidekicks” is a film stars Chuck Norris as an idealized version of himself, was directed by his little brother, features a cameo from his son, and positions the man as a ineffable figure of strength, heroism, charity, and upright fairness. The final scene suggests the legacy of Chuck Norris will continue to inspire the disadvantaged and down-trodden to victory. This is an ode to the man's own ego. Which makes you wonder why it doesn't get more about Chuck's own movies right. Maybe Norris was imagining a slightly better version of his own career for himself here. Perhaps the version of Chuck Norris that exists in this movie's world didn't do the same kind of movies over and over, like in our more mundane universe. I guess a “Silent Rage” or “Invasion USA” homage wouldn't have fit the squeaky-clean image this one was going for.

Pedantic nitpicking aside, “Sidekicks” is a little better than it needed to be. The cast is actually quite likable. The bright-eyed Jonathan Brandis successfully mixes a child-like sense of awe with a more reserved kind of sadness. Julia Nickson is surprisingly good as Miss Chan, sweet and caring in a way that feels genuine. (She's also, if you'll allow me to say, gorgeous.) Beau Bridges has some decent chemistry with her in a few scenes. Mako gets probably the script's corniest dialogue as our Dollar Store Mr. Miyagi. A scene where he slapsticks his way through a fight with some bikers is quite bad. As are any of the moments when he drops some rambling ancient Chinese secrets on the hero. (Would've been nice if, once again, Mako Iwamatsu could have played a Japanese man but whatever.) However, Mako was too likable a presence not to make some of his scenes work. Such as when he humbles a bigot at the airport or decides upon the humiliating name for Barry's karate alter-ego. And when he slams through that pile of bricks at the end? That shit is still cool.

Aaron Norris' direction is no less mawkish than in past credits. However, I think he's learned by now to let João Fernandes go a little crazy with the cinematography. “Sidekicks” looks shockingly good for what is otherwise such a chintzy production. That opening ninja scene features some ominous slow pans over creepy statues. A shot of Barry training around a fountain, as his and his master's shadows are reflected on the wall, looks fantastic. The physical comedy is goofy but why is the lighting so fucking good in that shot of a ninja exploding through the school wall? You didn't have to go that hard, João. I'd say the same to Alan Silvestri, whose synth-heavy rock score genuinely gets the heart pumping at times. The film definitely needed a proper theme song, its own “You're the Best” or “Hold Onto That Vision,” to truly make it work but I'm still fond of Silvestri's score. I guess it's fair to say that I'm still kind of fond of “Sidekicks” in general, as vain, dumb, and formulaic a motion picture as it is. Maybe the nostalgia is talking but I do think I'd take it over “Three Ninjas!” or “The Next Karate Kid.” [6/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup*

*Bolo tie and boots

OSCARS 2026: The Smashing Machine (2025)

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson's journey from popular pro-wrestler to the biggest movie star in the world didn't happen based on the size of his biceps or how many reps he could do. Johnson has a megawatt smile, an irrepressible charm, an ability to command the screen, to make himself the center of attention no matter what is going on around him. For a brief period, all of that was enough to carry him from one blockbuster hit to another. However, sometime around 2018 or so, the shine started to come off that diamond. Maybe it was overexposure. Johnson was a key part of massive worldwide franchises like “Fast & Furious” and Disney. He had a successful TV show and multiple brand spokesman gigs. Maybe it was just because the movies weren't there. Films like “Skyscraper,” “Central Intelligence,” and “Jungle Cruise” started to feel more generic, more forgettable. Some would suggest that ego – including a supposed contractual clause that he never loses a fight on-screen – plays a role. Either way, by the time Johnson was attempting to brute-force “Black Adam” into a world-wide popular character, there was a stink of desperation about his career. Suddenly, Dwayne's desire to make audiences love him went from likable to off-putting. 

Since he could no longer be counted on to make a movie a hit with his charm alone, it was time to pursue another avenue: To prove he was a real actor, a true thespian. Yes, it was time for the Oscar bid. An inspiring true story still within Johnson's wheelhouse was found: The documentary “The Smashing Machine,” about the career of embattled Mixed Martial Arts star Mark Kerr. That movie was directed by John Hyams, a maker of reliably intense B-movies that hasn't broken through into the mainstream much. Hyams doesn't have awards season shine though. Benny Safdie, freed from his partnership with his brother and presumably eager to prove his solo talent, was an established critical darling. A24, the hippest of hip distributors and production companies, then came on-board the film. As the tone of the trailers made increasingly clear, Safdie's "The Smashing Machine" represented Johnson trying to manifest himself an Oscar the same way he tried to manifest a superhero franchise with “Black Adam.” Once again, it did not work. Despite aggressive campaigning, it received one nomination, in the decidedly less prestigious category of Best Hair and Make-Up. What of the film itself?

Mark Kerr would begin his athletic career as an amateur wrestler. (Actual wrestling, not the "sports entertainment" kind.) After beating more famous people like Randy Couture and Kurt Angle, Kerr would move into mixed martial arts. During the nineties, Kerr would become a repeated champion in the world of a sport that was slowly catching on all over the world. Kerr would soon begin an undefeated streak for Pride Fighting Championship. This is when “The Smashing Machine” comes in. Developing an addiction to painkillers, his relationship with girlfriend Dawn becomes more tense. After losing a Pride fight for the first time, Kerr's self esteem spirals. After having a heart attack, he endeavors to get clean and compete in the 2000 Pride Grand Prix. At the same time, his close friend and sparring partner Mark Coleman also seems to have a clear shot at the championship, leading to the inevitable conclusion that the two buddies might have to fight each.

“The Smashing Machine” is clearly an attempt by Johnson to shed his movie star persona and become absorbed in a performance. He adapts Kerr's particular speech pattern, a result of missing several teeth from fights. He refers to his “tummy” multiple times. He bleeds, gets stitches, shoots up drugs, screams, gasps for breath, and sweats. I think a third of “The Smashing Machine's” budget must have been spent on fake sweat. Though his pectorals are as impressive and arms as vein-y as ever, Johnson carries himself throughout “The Smashing Machine” as a man barely holding it together. He is always stiff, shoulders back, arms to his side. Whenever chatting with his manly friends or the press, he adopts a friendly bro-like persona that reads as blatantly performative. This is a guy desperate not to look like a failure. Naturally, when he does lose a fight, he spirals into drug addiction and messy arguments with Dawn. The arc of “The Smashing Machine” is of a man afraid of being perceived as a loser learning that it's okay to fail, to be vulnerable.  

That is a compelling character arc. It is also a good subversion of Johnson's tough guy image, deliberately showing that there is a sad, struggling human being behind all that rippling sinew. However, something feels off. The Oscar clip moment occurs when Kerr is in the hospital, recovering from that heart attack. Coleman tries to talk with him, Kerr assuming his usual laid-back demeanor... Before he suddenly drops it, bursting into tears. It feels as calculated as the expertly timed cocked eyebrows or elbow drops he did in the ring. There's the foundation of a good performance here. Johnson has the skills to make Kerr's feelings genuine, to make his pain and triumph palatable. Despite looking like the Rock, he makes Kerr seem like a regular guy a few times. 

Throughout the film, however, I repeatedly found myself wondering something: Why is Mark like this? What happened in his life to make him so guarded about his feelings? Why does he feel an intense drive to succeed all the time, taking a single loss as a devastating blow that he nearly dies over? The script does not specify. The film also does not go into details about Mark's painkiller addiction, only hinting at the ever-present pain he must feel from countless blows to the head and body that pushes him to shoot up. We see very little of Mark struggling with drug addiction after his promise to get clean. The film does not explore his childhood, his backstory, or any of the psychological impulse that make him act this way. There's a scene, where Mark stands outside a carnival ride while Dawn is inside. He stares to the side, the camera focusing on his face and physical demeanor as he waits. Instead of me feeling a sense of his detachment from Dawn or being left out of his own life, I simply found myself with no idea what this guy was thinking at all.

Part of this is because of the decisions Safdie, cinematographer Maceo Bishop, and composer Nata Sinephro make. “The Smashing Machine” seeks to replicate the documentary-like visuals from its source film. There's a sheen of unpolished grit to the images, looser camera movements. This also means pulling back from the characters. In “The Smashing Machine,” we always feel like we are watching the characters, not apart of their lives. There's a noticeable distance between the cast and the camera placement. This makes sense for the fight scene, to copy the sensation of watching from the audience. When applied to the rest of the movie, it makes us feel detached from Mark and his struggles. When paired with a musical score that is discordant and inexplicably jazzy at times, the result is a movie that feels nearly as closed-up to the viewer as its protagonist is to his girlfriend. 

And about that romantic subplot. Emily Blunt gives a good performance as Dawn. She accurately plays a woman who is frustrated with a man who won't let her get any closer. Their arguments seem plausible and not melodramatic, clearly born out an inability for these two to communicate. Unfortunately, part of that lack of communication means Dawn doesn't take Mark's concerns seriously. While he's getting sober, she goes out drinking with friends. She mocks him calling his sponsor at one point. She outright admits she preferred Mark when he was high, so she could take care of him. She also picks the night before a big fight or during a tense training session to start an argument. Her most dramatic moment occurs when Dawn puts a gun to her head at the climax of another argument. This does not make me want to root for these two kids to work it out. These two need to break up. They are not healthy for each other. The script seems to take it for granted that the couple need to be together for their own good, when all the evidence suggests otherwise. 

When Johnson is a producer on “The Smashing Machine,” it is easy to blame him for the failure of the film. (Which includes commercially, as the movie flopped.) However, I think he was up to the task of giving an Oscar-winning performance. Instead, as always, it's the script, stupid. “The Smashing Machine” feels half-formed, unable to take us inside the head of a character we are clearly meant to connect to. It must have been a deliberate choice, as every aspect of the film keeps us from figuring out makes Mark tick. The film follows all the beats of a inspiring arc, in its final scene where Kerr finally accepts that it's okay to lose. It rings hollow. Hopefully, Johnson keeps trying to prove his actorly chops, as I do think he has a great performance in him. But “The Smashing Machine” doesn't have what it takes to be a champion. [6/10]

 

OSCARS 2026: Marty Supreme (2025)

I hope the following admission doesn't get me kick out of the Film Bros Association of America: I've never seen a Safdie Brothers film before. “Good Time” managed to pass by my attention before it started to pick up acclaim as a modern classic. I witnessed people losing their minds over “Uncut Gems” but... I don't know, man. I just never got around to it. There's so many trashy horror movies I need to see first, you guys! And it's all a moot point now, of course, as the Safdie Brothers are no more. At least the formal duo has split up for the time being. While Benny's attempt at a solo outing barely caught the Academy's attention – review of that one coming soon enough – Josh's “Marty Supreme” is one of the big titles at this year's Oscars ceremony. This is my first stop into Safdie-ville so the question remains to be answered. Have I actually been missing out?

Loosely inspired by the life of a real table tennis pro, the film follows Marty Mauser, a Jewish young man living in fifties New York City. By day, he works in his uncle Murray's shoe shop and fucks his married girlfriend, Rachel. By night, he's a rising name in the world of table tennis, an internationally popular sport that still hasn't caught on in America. He needs 700 dollars to travel to London and compete in the British Open. When Murray won't give him the cash, Marty steals it from the store's vault. In London, he meets and seduces washed-up actress Kay Stone and draws the attention of her husband, the rich CEO of a pen corporation. Marty also loses the final match against a Japanese player, Koto Endo. Upon returning home, he's arrested for robbing the shoe store and receives a letter from the Table Tennis Association that says he can't compete again until he pays a $1500 fine. Also, Rachel is pregnant and claims the baby is Marty's. Marty does everything possible to raise enough money to pay the fine and fly to Japan for a rematch against Koto. Orange ping pong balls, a stolen dog, a gangster with an arm crushed by a falling bathtub, the Harlem Globetrotters, a shootout, an exploding gas station, and another fling with Kay follow. 

From a narrative perspective, “Marty Supreme” acts mostly as a series of chain reactions. I went in expecting the “Timothee Chalamet table tennis movie” but there's actually not much ping pong action in the film. Instead, the movie is more about the various insane schemes Marty attempts to raise the necessary funds, each one spiraling wildly out of control very quickly. A good example is a sequence that begins with the simple idea of hustling some guys in a bowling alley, challenging them to a match they can't win with funds that are already secured. In a way that seems amusingly, horrifyingly plausible, this somehow escalates to an entire gas station going up in flames. Keep in mind, this is after a bathtub smashes through the floor and into the apartment below. “Marty Supreme” is probably the only Oscar-nominated inspiration sports drama that features multiple shoot-outs. The entire film manages to capture the feeling of a machine that is always merely seconds away from spinning out of control.

Often, that sense of barely controlled chaos is darkly amusing. Such as when an argument in an apartment is repeatedly forced to occur at a lower volume, least the other tenets be awoken. Once the mysteriously rich gangster – played by, of all people, Abel Ferrara with the exact level of gravelly, mush-mouthed street smarts you'd expect – an unavoidable sense of danger is present in the story. This leads to an increasing uneasy feeling, Marty and Rachel flung into the middle of a violent situation that they have zero control over. Frantic but precise editing creates a visible momentum throughout the film, furthering the atmosphere of uncertainty. When cops interrupt Marty and Kay's park date, how sure are we that this isn't going to get much worst? Daniel Lopatin's vibrating electronic score and a production design that seems to delight in the dingy, filthy squalor of the various locations the story takes place in. This confirms “Marty Supreme” as both a darkly hilarious comedy of errors and a slow-mo car crash of piling-up mistakes that is impossible to look away from.

It's a film of undeniably bold decisions. The opening credits occur over close-up footage of Marty's sperm fertilizing Rachel's egg, which then dissolves to a ping pong ball. Despite the fifties setting, the soundtrack prominently features several eighties New Wave songs, like two separate Tears for Fears' needle drops and Public Image Ltd.'s “The Order of Death.” (Suggesting the possibility that Josh Safdie has seen “Hardware.”) This is the kind of shit that easily invites mockery unless the film around it is properly confident. Marty Mauser is certainly very sure of his own abilities. At least, this is the image of himself he presents at first. He's a nobody in a sport few people on this shore take seriously but he acts like a superstar, bragging to reporters, proclaiming his own greatness, successfully seducing movie stars. The reason Marty commits numerous crimes is because he's so certain his ultimate plan will be successful. It's the kind of character that might have come across as insufferable, if the film didn't make it so abundantly clear that this is an invented persona. Marty Mauser has nothing but his dream of being the greatest table tennis player of all time. If his dream fails, he's dead. Every thing that happens in the film is his attempt to manifest a seemingly impossible ambition into reality through sheer brute force.

It's a narrative that resembles star Timothee Chalamet's award season story, of proclaiming himself the best and willing that recognition into being. He supposedly has been training in table tennis for the last six years to assure realism in this performance. Again, this would be very annoying if Chalamet and the film around him wasn't very careful. Despite his apparent, partially put-on self-confidence, Marty screws up a lot and in huge ways. The script repeatedly sees him thrown to the ground, his possessions destroyed, his plans going awry. A key sequence has one of the film's primary antagonist, a man with all the power Marty lacks, ritualistically humiliate him in public. The question floats throughout, over whether this is the athlete being punished for his hubris or if Marty's life is merely one indignity after another. It creates an interesting push and pull, between the audience feeling like this guy is a jerk who probably needs to be humbled and ultimately rooting for him to succeed despite how cocky he was at the start. It's a balance that Chalamet, with his ability to appear both deeply vulnerable and obnoxiously self-aggrandizing, is uniquely gifted to walk. 

That brings another interesting idea to mind. Marty Mauser is very Jewish. He's so Jewish that he's got an actual Uncle Murray. He's so Jewish that Fran Drescher plays his guilting, pressuring mother. “Marty Supreme” is a film so deeply invested in the cultural archetype of the hard-boiled, Jewish youth growing up in the big city that its protagonist can't help but emerge as symbolic of the entire East Coast Jewish identity. Marty Mauser is a perpetual underdog, a frequent target of harassment from a world that hates him because of his genes. One of his few close friends is Wally, a black man who faces similar prejudice every day. At the same time, most of the bad shit that happens to Marty is his own fault. He wouldn't become the target of a gun-totting asshole farmer or a petty mobster if he hadn't tried to extort both parties earlier. A moment in “Marty Supreme” that has attracted some minor controversy is when Marty brings his mother a piece of the Great Pyramid of Gaza, saying that “we built that.” (I hope this doesn't need saying but: We did not.) This, when paired to an earlier sequence concerning another player being a Holocaust survivor, has led some to assume a Zionist undertone to the film. If we are to take Marty as something of a stand-in for the Jewish condition, at least how it exists in the United States in the 20th century, his debatable unearned sense of self-importance and being the source of much of his own misery makes “Marty Supreme” a self-reflective perception on a cultural identity that is simultaneously God's Chosen People and the whipping boy of a hundred other kingdoms. If nothing else, that suggests a point of view more complicated than blind support for Israel. 

Honestly, I wasn't sure I totally loved “Marty Supreme” throughout. The performances are great, the cinematography and sets are fantastic, the soundtrack drew me in. I wasn't sure if the piling up of misadventures that composes the story was going to come together in a satisfying manner. However, by the time the climax arrives, of Marty's rematch in Japan with the champ that bested him in the first act, I realized I was totally hooked and couldn't look away from the screen. That's a good indication that a movie is a masterful piece of filmmaking that has truly succeeded. From what I've read, it sounds like a lot of the Safdies' previous work walks a similar fine line of anxious filmmaking as this one does. Yes, I am forced to conclude, this is my type of thing and I'm annoyed I didn't check them out sooner. Far from a typical sports biopic, “Marty Supreme” is a wilder, more intense, and more interesting picture than its log line suggests. [9/10]

OSCARS 2026: F1 (2025)

Let us consider the career of screenwriter Ehren Kruger. If you ignore an obscure TV movie and a random Rutger Hauer vehicle, Kruger would first gain fame for writing well-liked thriller “Arlington Road.” Two years after that, he penned “The Ring,” which is still regarded as the best of American J-horror remake trend. Otherwise, Kruger's credits are a line-up of disheartening blockbuster schlock. He did an uncredited polish on the worst “Scream” movie. He put his name on the worst Philip K. Dick adaptation, the movie that ended John Frankenheimer's theatrical career, the Terry Gilliam joint nobody defends, an anime adaptation most famous for whitewashing its heroine, three of the Michael Bay “Transformer” sequels, and Tim Burton's “Dumbo” remake. I don't think Kruger deserves sole blame for any of these features. Maybe the original scripts were really good and got fucked-up during troubled productions or by apathetic filmmakers. Nevertheless, Kruger being associated with so many films that range from deeply mediocre to some of the most annoying big budget movies I've ever seen has not endeared him to me. 

Likewise, let us look at the career of Joseph Kosinski. He first gained attention for elaborate, special effects heavy commercials for video games. This lead to an elaborate, special effects heavy sequel about video games and the least memorable Tom Cruise sci-fi vehicle. It's not that “Tron: Legacy” or “Oblivion” are dreadful movies but they are ones that made little impression on me. Mostly, I associate Kosinski as one of those guys who, for years, gets attached to any number of uninspiring I.P.-driven reboots or sequels before inevitably moving onto something else. But powerful friends can take you places in Hollywood. Clearly Tom Cruise liked working with Kosinski and he eventually got the job to helm the long-in-development “Top Gun” sequel.  That movie become both a surprise box office and critical hit, earning six Academy Award nominations. Kruger wrote that one too and his screenplay got an Oscar nomination, which is pretty funny in light of the rest of his career. 

Now, it would seem, Kosinski and Kruger are hoping to spring off “Top Gun: Maverick's” critical acclaim to change the direction of both of their careers. The director and screenwriter would next re-team not for another forgettable CGI action fest nor a lame reboot of an old cartoon. Instead, they collabed on “F1.” (Advertised on most of the posters as “F1: The Movie,” presumably to differentiate it form “F1: The Sport” or “F1: The Commemorative Dishware.”) Since Tom Cruise had already made his race car movie, another mega-star – Brad Pitt – would be tapped to star. I don't know anybody who saw “F1” but I guess a lot of people did, as it became the ninth highest grossing movie of 2025.  While the movie honestly isn't that different from the work Kosinski and Kruger have made in the past, an aura of prestige was around “F1” all throughout its release. That the film has gone on to be nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Picture, suggest that Kosinski and Kruger have indeed successfully reinvented themselves as critical darlings. 

Sonny Hayes self-describes not as a has-been in the world of Formula One racing so much as a never-was. His potential has never paid off and he's spent his career as a second stringer. After a successful run at the 24 Hours of Daytona competition, old friend Ruben Cervantes arrives with a proposition. The F1 team Cervantes owns is on the verge being sold unless they start to win some races. Sonny is talked into being the team's second driver. He quickly begins to butt heads with Joshua Pearce, the team's rookie driver, and Kate, the technical director. Sonny helps Kate upgrade the team's car to new heights. His on-going rivalry with Joshua – who is looking to sign with another team – and his own medical problems derail any further wins. It all comes to a head at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. 

After “Maverick” became such a hit, there was a brief conversation about Tom Cruise returning to his other Tony Scott directed drama about a cocky asshole who pilots fast-moving vehicles. I'm doubtful if “More Days of Thunder” will ever come to theaters but “F1” gives us a decent idea of what it might look like anyway. In his youth, Sonny was probably a lot like Cole Trickle. Over the last thirty years, he's acquired plenty of injuries and emotional burn-out but not much in the way of achievement. He is, in other words, an overgrown cocky kid, still with a lot to prove but quickly running out of time to prove it. It's a familiar character and “familiar” is the exact mold “F1” is operating in. The archetypal roles here are that of young rival, down-on-his-luck mentor, a sleazy corporate antagonist willing to sell everyone out, and a female technician the hero naturally shares a will-they-won't-they? romance with. It's extremely easy to guess where all of this is headed. The hero is going to learn about humility and friendship on his way to securing his legacy, the rival will learn to respect his elders, and the girl is certainly going home in Brad Pitt's arms. The protagonist being an old screw-up rather than a young screw-up does provide some degree of novelty but, otherwise, “F1” makes no effort to resist inspirational sports movie cliches. 

“F1” being so – if you'll excuse the inevitable pun – formulaic raises the question of why the Academy felt the need to acknowledge it all. There is a degree of real world subtext at work in the film. Much as there was in “Top Gun: Maverick,” a movie as much about Tom Cruise attempting to mold the next generation of mega-watt movie stars as it is about a retirement age pilot fostering a new team. Brad Pitt is Cruise's former “Interview with the Vampire” co-star and of the same generation of nineties idols. He's one of the few “true” movie stars we have left, able to open a motion picture based strictly on his charisma alone. But he's getting older and he knows it too. “F1” sees Brad Pitt do all the Brad Pitt things you'd expect. He has satisfying romantic chemistry with Kerry Condon, the two's relationship being one of the better elements of the film. He smiles cockily, chuckles, does dangerous stunts, and somehow paints the image of being kind of a washed-up mess despite obviously looking like Brad Pitt. I felt “Maverick” was a fairly half-assed attempt to pass the baton on Cruise's behalf. “F1” doesn't even pretend, as co-star Damson Idris is a wilting forgettable presence in Pitt's shadow. However, the tension the movie industry feels these days over individual talent being eclipsed by corporate I.P. does run throughout “F1.” 

Another reason “F1” scored points with Academy voters is that it's an impressive technical exercise. As Kosinski did with “Maverick,” CGI spectacle has given way to more grounded, practical effects. The film often puts the camera right into the cockpit with its racers. Sparks fly along the track and against the fences around the road. The speed of the vehicles and the spur-of-the-moment decisions the drivers have to make in these races is conveyed to the audience. Claudio Miranda's cinematography is gritty and fast-moving, while Stephen Mirrione's editing cuts quickly but coherently between multiple perspectives. Naturally, this is most apparent during the multiple crash scenes, the moments when the film most comes to life. The cars spinning through the air, the twisted metal being tossed around, the impact on the drivers, the risk to their lives: All are successfully felt by the audience. If motion pictures were judged strictly by the way they look, sound, and move, “F1” would be a masterpiece.

There's a problem here, however. It's strictly my problem alone but it's one I cannot emphasize enough: I do not care about auto-racing. I do not care about the technical specs of the cars. I do not care about the number of wins or conditions necessary to head towards one championship or another. “F1” is deeply invested in both of these things, multiple long scenes dedicated to the various changes and alterations needed to be made to the car to turn it into a proper winner. While “Days of Thunder” at least made NASCAR a coherent experience, at no point during “F1” did I understand how the hell these races actually operate. The script is full of the minutia regarding the rules, which Sonny and his enemies and friends exploit at various points. Getting a car from point-A to point-B faster than all the other cars should be a simple thing to understand. Instead, I spent much of “F1” completely baffled as to what the fuck any of this meant. What is a safety car? What do the letters APXGP mean? How are slick tires different from regular tires? How is a points finish secured? I do not know. Much more pressingly, I do not care. 

My indifference towards all sporting events is the biggest roadblock to me getting much of anything out of “F1.” As the title indicates, the film is essentially one long advertisement for the sport, featuring actual racers and extensive real world branding. I want to say something pithy like “Even if I did understand Formula 1 racing, the stock-parts script would still leave me unsatisfied.” But the over-reliance on the obscurities of race car regulations is a feature, not a bug, for this one. I can admire the professional, ambitious filmmaking on display here in terms of the shooting, editing, sound engineering, and special effects. However, there's simply no in – emotional or narrative – to the story for anyone outside its world. [5/10]

 

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (1987)

I've debated about this for years. When I first became a wannabe film nerd, Danny Boyle was one of the directors whose work I admired. By which I mean I loved “Trainspotting.” Of course I did. That's one of the movies they give you in the Film Bro starter pack, as widely circulated and beloved back in the day as “Pulp Fiction” or “Fight Club.” “28 Days Later” had also made a huge impact when I was in high school, repolarizing zombies shortly after the turn of the millennium. However, by the time Boyle won several Oscars, it felt like something had changed about him. He wasn't one of Our Guys anymore. As his subsequent projects interested me les and less, I took his name off my list of directors to do Report Cards for some day. When Boyle seemed like he was genuinely going to make a James Bond movie, I put him back on my list with some resignation. That didn't happen, the movie he made instead really didn't excite me, and he fell off my list again. Twenty-three years later, Boyle has returned to the horror series that first made me a fan. Alright, I guess there's no avoiding this now. The time has come for me to fulfil the destiny I've long put off and decide whether Danny Boyle is still cool or not.

1. Scout

Danny Boyle was born to a working-class Irish family living in England. His parents were devout Catholics and hoped he'd become a priest. Instead, as a teenager, Boyle became interested in theater. While at university, he directed several student productions. He soon found professional work directing stage plays, including working five times with the Royal Shakespeare Company. His theater work must have impressed somebody at the Northern Ireland wing of the BBC. That's where he started working as a producer and director in the late eighties. Most of Boyle's early television work was for “ScreenPlay,” an anthology of one hour long dramatic presentations that aired on the BBC from 1986 to 1993. Such programs straddled the line between television episodes – which I normally wouldn't write about – and made-for-TV movies, which fall within my typical coverage. It's a moot point anyway, as most of Boyle's “ScreenPlay” installments have not surfaced in many years. If you weren't watching British television at the time, you probably haven't seen them. One of the few to pop up on the internet is “Scout,” which aired as the seventh installment of “ScreenPlay's” 1987 season. It also so happens to be the first bit of filmed media Boyle would directed, his de-facto debut.

Loosely inspired by Bob Bishop, a renown talent scout for Manchester United, “Scout” centers in on Mr. Palmer. He arrives in Helen's Bay, County Down to meet with six young men, all of whom dream of playing football for Manchester United. Over the course of a single weekend, the group will live together in a dingy home on the Irish countryside, often training and playing ball together. At the end of the weekend, Palmer will only choose one to become his next star player. Among the group is Marshall, a former protegee who has repeatedly failed in his attempts to join the big leagues. Growing older and resentful, and starting to drink too much, Marshall has one last chance to impress Palmer. 

Yes, “Scout” is a motion picture about that most European of obsessions: What we call soccer and what they call association football, or simply football, over in the British isles. As an American, I know nothing about soccer. Nor do I care to know any more about it. Terms like Manchester, goalie, and a whole litany of specific player names used within “Scout” mean nothing to me. Not content to alienate any international viewers on the subject of sports, “Scout” is also about other topics that are extremely important over there and which I am extremely ignorant about. Three of the would-be recruits are Catholic and the other three are Protestant. Obviously, the Troubles cast a shadow over this story, informing the boundaries and rivalries between the players. When paired with the extremely thick Irish accents displayed by almost all the actors, both of these topics make it even harder for me to get into “Scout.” Ireland certainly is another country, let there be no doubt about that.

From what I can parse out of the culturally specific topics and sometimes indecipherable brogues is that “Scout” is a movie mostly about failure and compromise. There is an inevitable quality floating over the story. No matter how hard all of the players work, most of whom are still teenage boys, only one of them is going to be selected. Marshall is thirty years old, considered quite long in the tooth for an athlete. Through his own screw-ups and plain bad luck, he's failed to make it beyond this stage. Throughout the story, he has to struggle with accepting his fate, that he's never going to become a professional ball player. However, “Scout” can never quite form this idea into a properly poignant theme. We never learn enough about the group of boys and men, about what the potential of reaching sports stardom, means to them. Like most sports dramas, we can assume the path to the big leagues represents an escape from a modest, if not desperate, way of life. We never see nor hear much about the character's back story however. It leaves “Scout” feeling a bit half-formed at times.

“Scout” was written by Frank McGuinness, an Irish playwright and poet who would also go on to a certain degree of acclaim. He clearly makes an attempt to add depth to the collection of characters. The boys have other interest beyond soccer. One does little sketches of the other players. Another has an interest in poetry. Girls are a topic that comes up from time to time too, unsurprisingly. At the very least, this gives us some insight into who these guys are beyond their passion for sports. Being made for television, “Scout” can't get into the raging masculine egos and bad behavior you would expect from young men isolated in the countryside like this. That's just one example of how the film ultimately falls short of making its cast of characters feel truly fleshed out though. 

Given that he has the title role, it's entirely possible that the talent scout is meant to be the main character of this television play. Ray McAnally stars as Palmer, a stern and serious man who looks down at everything the potential recruits do with a shrewd eye. Late into “Scout,” Palmer reveals that he's never been a footballer himself. That he merely has an eye for talent. This parallels Marshall's journey, as someone desperately trying to break into this game despite repeatedly failing to do so. There is an old adage: “Those who can't do, teach.” In the world of professional sports, perhaps, that can be changed to “Those who can't play, recruit.” The idea squirms throughout that the role of talent scout is a compromise, perhaps even a way for a failed athlete to take some resentment out on people who are much like they used to be. Again, this is all suggested, never formulating into a solid idea within the hour.

“Scout” does indeed have a recognizable face in it. Stephen Rea stars as Marshall. He was around thirty at the time and already looks much older. In fact, he looks way too old to be an in-training football player. This was no doubt intentional, calling attention to how out of place the character is among these literal boys. Rea is one of those actors that have always looked fifty years old and hung-over, making him a good choice for this role. Truthfully, the scenes of Rea sitting in his car, getting drunk, reflecting on his wasted life while verbally repeating the names of various famous soccer players is some of the best scenes in “Scout.” Rea's sad, forlorn eyes suggest a lifetime of regrets and pain. When that rage finally comes to the surface, it's one of the few moments of catharsis in the pinned-up, quiet movie. 

Of the little bit of BBC programming from way back in the day that I've seen, it seems largely united by a sense of quiet and isolation. That is very apparent in “Scout.” The Irish countryside is wide and green, fresh fields and hills of grass stretching in all direction. The boys stay in a shadowy, dingy house out on the empty field, feeling even more apart from wider civilization. As the camera slowly moves around a dinner table, nothing on the soundtrack except for the sounds of the conversation, the sense of quiet desolation becomes unavoidable. Maybe that's why “Scout” never feels as if it actually comes together. The anger of the protagonist, the unnerving stillness of the location, and the simmering resentment underneath the set-up suggests this will eventually build towards some sort of pay-off that ultimately never arrives. 

Obviously, the only reason I watched “Scout” is to see how it reflects on Danny Boyle's overall career. You can certainly see some of the signs of what the director would get up to later down the line. There's a fast paced montage of the boys playing football, one of the few scenes in the film set to a pop soundtrack. This is proceeded by a sequence of Marshall drinking and driving, intercut with vintage soccer footage. Other than that, this is a chamber drama largely set in the cramped confines of the main building and on the weirdly empty feeling green fields outside. When combined with the far from ideal video quality that the hour presentation survives in, it furthers the sense that we are only getting fleeting glimpses of Boyle's talent in its embryonic stage. 

Ultimately, I'm glad that “Scout” still exists and that we can watch it with relative ease. It's an interesting film that never reaches its potential, batting – or perhaps “kicking” would be the more fitting metaphor – around bigger ideas that only float under the surface as suggestion. I'm glad that the movie doesn't require you to know or care about soccer, or else I would have been truly lost while watching it. As it is, there is some fine pathos to be found in Rea and McAnally's performance. If allowed to explore the feelings of failure and longing within its story more, “Scout” could have been something more impressive. As it is now, the film is an occasionally interesting but never fully compelling sketch, of its own ideas and of the talent that would grow out of it. [Grade: B-]

OSCARS 2024: Nyad (2023)

In 2015, husband and wife filmmaking team Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin made “Meru,” a documentary about Chin and two other men climbing an especially perilous peak in the Indian Himalayas. In 2018, the same duo made “Free Solo,” about Alex Honnold's free-climbing of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. The break-out documentary hit of the year, “Free Solo” would go on to win the Best Documentary Feature award at the Oscars. Vasarhelyi and Chin have made a few other documentaries since then but 2023 would see them handling their first narrative feature. And it followed a subject not too similar to their hit docs. “Nyad” is about Diana Nyad, the swimmer who came to fame in the seventies for her numerous long distance swims. It's not surprising that this filmmaking duo would be drawn to Nyad's most arduous task – swimming from Cuba to Florida, while in her sixties – as another display of the human body and its ability to perform stunning acts of stamina. The resulting film unsurprisingly captured the Academy's attention, receiving two nominations in the acting categories. 

In 1980, long-distance swimmer Diana Nyad first attempted the 110-mile, continuous swim from Cuba to Florida. She did not compete the task. Even though Nyad remains a point of inspiration for athletes all over the world, that she has left this journey incomplete vexes her still. At the age of sixty, she decides to try again. Her life-long friend, Bonnie Stoll, acts as her couch. A surly navigator by the name of John Bartlett is recruited to steer the boat. Nyad does everything she can to prepare but still she fails her mission. A month later, she tries again, this attempt cut short when she nearly dies from a jellyfish sting. This is the second of five attempts by Nyad to complete the swim, growing more desperate and determined with each failure. All the while, her body, mind, and the commitment of her friends will be pushed to their absolute limits. 

Diana Nyad's story is about as cinematic as a true story can get. Her last name literally being pronounced the same as the water nymphs of Greek mythology is the kind of detail you'd expect a screenwriter to invent. Her achievements are seemingly superhuman, the kind of record-breaking tasks that seem impossible. A swim through open ocean is full of dangers, from out-of-control tides, to sharks, to how to pull off practical necessities like eating, drinking, or using the bathroom. More than anything else, what makes Diana Nyad's story so well suited to the movie screen was her undying determination. To attempt something like this once is daunting. To try over and over again, despite nearly dying every time, is the kind of improbable resoluteness you typically find in fictional characters, not real people. In other words, Diana Nyad's story was tailor-made for a movie. 

Probably the biggest challenge facing filmmakers bringing Nyad's story tot he screen is that... Swimming for a really long time is maybe not the most exciting action to watch. It's a journey fraught with danger. I can't even begin to imagine how Diana pushed her body and her mind through a mission like this. Yet someone swimming in a straight line probably wouldn't make much of a movie otherwise. In order to make “Nyad” as cinematic as possible, the filmmakers delve right into Diana's mind. When she begins to hallucinate, deep into the swim, we are greeted to those visuals. Her memories come to life around her: Her difficult childhood with her irresponsible father, sexual abuse at the hands of her swim coach, her struggles as a young gay woman. From there, Vasarhelyi, Chin, and cinematographer Claduio Miranda do everything they can to make this journey look at memorable as possible. Deep reds, blues, and purples glow through crashing waves as Nyad swims on and on. 

The script is sturdy and the film looks good. What makes “Nyad” really worth watching, however, are the lead performances. Annette Bening plays Diana as irrepressible. After nearly dying of a jellyfish sting, while recovering in the hospital, she's already talking to an expert about what to do the next time. After being fished out of the water, almost dead, she's still trying to swim. Bening allows for Diana to have an ego, which gets her in trouble. She's a proud and stubborn woman. Yet her unkillable spirit is too inspiring not to love a little bit, making full use of Bening's ability as an actress. Jodie Foster is ideally cast as Bonnie, an ever-true friend that challenges her partner but never gives up on her. Every time Foster gets an inspiring speech or an impassionate monologue, she makes it sing. That's what you hire Jodie Foster for. Rhys Ifans is also nicely crochety as literally a weathered old sea captain.

“Nyad” is the kind of Oscar-nominee that's not likely to be remembered in a few years. The fact that it was a Netflix production, designed to play in theaters for a single week before being buried on a streaming service forever, isn't going to help. I'm not sure I'm going to remember much about after the ceremony wraps. The movie does nothing to reinvent the biopic formula. However, the performances are strong and the movie is steadily assembled. Sometimes, all you need is an extraordinary story brought to life by competent talent. I foresee this becoming a favorite among moms all over. [7/10]

OSCARS 2022: King Richard (2021)

During my middle school years, there was a very brief attempt on my behalf to get invested in tennis. I even bought a racket and bounce a ball around a court with my dad once or twice. This was mostly a desperate attempt to get my then-tubby ass out from in front of the computer. It didn’t work, as I never really cared about the rules of the game and have mediocre hand-eye coordination. I have no idea if the incredible popularity of the Williams sisters had anything to do with my decision to try out the Wimbledon hobby. I was certainly aware of the sisters, as they are definitely the most popular tennis players of my youth. Now, Venus and Serena have gotten the Oscar biopic… Kinda because “King Richard” is actually about Richard Williams, their father who orchestrated the sisters’ rise to tennis stardom. 

Beginning in the late eighties, Richard Williams is a security guard trying to raise five daughters in poor, troubled community of Compton, California. Richard decided when Venus and Serena were young that they would become tennis stars. He trains them non-stop in the sport and attempts to convince high-ranking coaches to take them on. Eventually, after many failures, he talks Paul Cohen, the top coach in the sport, into training the girls. The family struggles to foster the sisters' incredible skill and talent, while dealing with economic difficulties and the pressures of the demanding tennis world... But mostly Richard's insistence on micro-managing every aspect of Venus and Serena's lives and careers. 

In many ways, "King Richard" is exactly the kind of Oscar Bait-y biopic you think it is. The Williams sisters' story – of growing up poor, surviving adversity, and overcoming incredible odds to become the top athletes in their field – fits the inspirational sports story formula perfectly. The movie tells this true tale in compelling fashion. There's a lot of juicy storytelling here, in moments where Richard can only choose one of his daughters to be mentored by Cohen. Or when an impressive sponsorship deal comes their way and the family has to decide what to do. Richard's insistence on keeping the girls out of the junior leagues, having them go from training and straight into the pros, provides most of the dramatic tension in the second half. These scenarios are all written well and the audience gets invested in seeing how they'll play out.

Richard's methods are extreme and I wish the film built more ambiguity around that. His unorthodox way of teaching his daughters to be humble – nearly abandoning them at a corner store – results in an argument with his wife. Early on, he's beaten by a local thug and nearly retaliates with violence. He often argues with coaches and agents, intentionally rubbing people the wrong way or making outrageous demands. His control freak tendencies are frustrating to Venus, who is eager to prove her worth. No matter how contrarian his process is, the movie is always on Richard's side. Because, obviously, it worked. Both Venus and Serena became the biggest tennis players in the world. We wouldn't be watching this movie otherwise! Yet I do wish the film focused a little more on the times Richard Williams pushed too far, discarded his daughters' feelings, or made an ass of himself. That would've added a little more depth to the film.

Mostly, "King Richard" is the kind of Oscar movie designed to be a vehicle for a big star, giving a big performance. And that is certainly true of Will Smith here. He adopts Williams' distinctive Louisiana accent. He gets several showy moments designed to be Oscar clips, such as a heated argument with his wife about his previous relationship. Or a stirring monologue to his daughter about his own father. Smith is genuinely good, never overplays it, and sometimes seems more invested in Richard's complexities than the movie around him. Aunjanue Ellis – as Brandy Williams, the girls' mother – and Jon Bernthal – Rick Macci, the sisters' hotheaded coach – are also very good. Ellis does great when playing off Smith and Bernthal's part allows for a lot of likable eccentricities. 

"King Richard" was directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green, whose other work – which includes "Joe Bell," another inspirational dad-centric movie – I'm not familiar with. Green acquits himself with the material well. It helps that tennis is a pretty visually dynamic sport. This is most obvious during the film's climax, Venus' star making match against Arantxa Sanchez Vicario, who was one of the top players in the game at the time. The camera gets right in with the ball as he's hit back and forth, making for a fairly exciting sequence to watch. "King Richard" is still too long and Green includes a couple of obvious needle drops. Overall though, it's a good-looking and well executed motion picture. 

Do I think it deserved to be nominated for six Academy Awards? Smith and Ellis both do fine work, so they certainly earned their nominations. I wouldn't have given a Best Picture slot, and certainly not a Best Original Screenplay or Editing vote, to it. I guess, even in this day and age, the Academy still can't resist a stirring, fact-based story about people rising out of nothing and reaching greatness. The film even ends with the required archive footage of the real people, while that nominated Beyoncé song plays. (Which I liked a little better in the context of the film.) It May meet the standard definition of Oscar bait but "King Richard" is still a decent movie. I don't regret watching it. [7/10]

Director Report Card: Tony Scott (1996)

9. The Fan

In 1995, Peter Abraham – a moderately popular and successful suspense author – would publish “The Fan.” The book must've been well received and popular, as the film rights were immediately gobbled up. The producers offered the job to Tony Scott twice and he turned them down both times. The third time they asked him to direct, it was with the added bonus that Robert De Niro was now attached to star. Eager to work with De Niro, Scott would finally agree to direct the movie. How many mediocre movies have been willed into existence just because someone wanted to work with Robert De Niro? Regardless, “The Fan” would be pitched into theaters less than a year after the book was first published. 

Gil Renard is unhappy. The knife company that his father founded, where he works as a lowly salesman, is threatening to oust him. His ex-wife has remarried and is increasingly regulating his time with their son. The only thing giving Gil any joy is his love of the San Francisco Giants. Gil is obsessed with baseball. Specifically, he's obsessed with Bobby Rayburn, a hot shot slugger who recently signed a 40 million dollar contract with the Giants. After abandoning his son at a baseball game to attend a work meeting, Gil's wife signs a restraining order. He gets fired. Worst yet, Rayburn's ball game begins to suffer and he is soon eclipsed by a rival player with the same jersey number. It's not much longer before Gil's obsession turns deadly. Before the love he feels for his favorite ball player turns into an all-consuming hatred. 

As you can tell by the fact that there's at least two other thrillers with the exact same title, writers are fascinated by the relationship celebrities have with their fans. The parasocial bonds between the admired and the admirers is a rich source for storytelling. “The Fan” attempts to show how Gil, a sad and isolated man who is loosing control of his life, could latch onto this one particular idol. He doesn't really know Rayburn and has no connection to the man's personality. Instead, he's obsessed with Rayburn because of what he represents to him. Gil sees Rayburn as someone who rose up from nothing to achieve great fame and success in a game he loves. That's the story Gil wanted for himself. Since he can't live that life, obsessing over Bobby is the next best thing.

Sadly, that's about as far as “The Fan” goes into exploring obsessive fandom. (A far better exploration of the same topic is the 2009 film “Big Fan.”) Instead, the movie is more compelling as an examination of a toxic dude whose constructed identity is collapsing around him. He can't be a father to his son, because his wife divorced him. He can't be a successful knife salesman, because he got fired. His love of baseball – and also the Rolling Stones but that's not as important – are the only two remaining facets of himself that he has left. This is why he's so insulted when he perceives an off-handed comment from Bobby as an insult to all fans. Being a fan of baseball, and of Ryback specifically, is a foundation of Gil's image of himself. When that is insulted, he's insulted. And because he's an extremely toxic wannabe tough guy, he has to respond to that insult with violence. He has to force this person – someone that he used to admire so much – to see things his way. Or else he might as well not exist anymore.

In our modern world, where the corrosive effect of toxic fandom is really being felt all over the pop culture sphere, observations like this are well understood. But obsessive sports fandom is a bit different from, say, obsessive “Star Wars” fans. Gil really wants his son to be interested in baseball, even though it's apparent the kid doesn't care about it that much. At his little league game, Gil goes off on the coach for not treating his son fairly. Later, we learn that Gil was in little league himself. That he still carries resentment from stuff that happened to him back then, even though he's in his fifties now. It's a stereotype that some dads force their kids into sports in order to live vicariously through their children's success. And, yeah, there's some truth to this stereotype. But “The Fan” seems to think that this observation is witty and clever enough on its own, without really digging into it too much. Frankly, the film probably should've explored Gil's relationship with his own dad if it was going to go down this path. 

Ultimately, that's the real reason “The Fan” doesn't really work. I have a certain fondness for the violent loner subgenre. The best examples of that story type are successful because they really put you in the mindset of an obsessed, lonely, broken person driven to violent acts by whatever reason. In “The Fan,” we never get much of a sense of Gil's inner life. We get brief glimpses of his home, which is decorated with Giants memorabilia, knives, and Rolling Stone posters. He's so obviously crazy, from the first scene where calls in to a radio sports show to rant on the air, that it's hard to believe he's a real person. There's not much depth to Gil's obsession or the twisted, broken mind that birthed it. Stories like this work because you feel an equal degree of sympathy and fear towards the obsessive weirdos. Gil is such an obvious creep from the get-go, that you can't get that invested.

In fact, “The Fan” is so eager to show how unhinged its villain protagonist is that it quickly veers towards over-the-top camp. Gil is threatening unresponsive customers with a knife mere minutes into the film. One ridiculous scene has him tossing a knife at a cockroach on his apartment wall, frightening a near-by rabbi in the process. The second half includes such ridiculous images as Robert De Niro chasing someone while wearing a too-tight baseball uniform or trying to explain to a ten-year-old who Mick Jagger is. For some reason, the movie decides midway through to play snippets from a remix of Nine Inch Nails' “Closer” every time it wants us to know how creepy Gil is being. The movie veers towards full-blown trashiness once we get to the image of a flayed piece of skin duct-taped to a door. 

In fact, there's a part of me that suspects camp was the intended goal here. You can certainly see this in Tony Scott's visual trademarks, which are beginning to approach the point of self-parody. Many of “The Fan's” scenes seem to be set at sundown or sunrise, the San Francisco skyline frequently being cast against the glowing amber clouds. The night scenes are set in the same sort of steamy back allies or colorful interior locations that are, by now, common sights in Scott's films. The longer the film goes on, the more helicopter shots of the city it starts to include. The editing gets increasingly frantic, during the first murder sequence or a scene devoted to Gil rescuing Bobby's son from drowning. The director's style is beginning to be stretched pass its breaking point here.

Truthfully, this might not be a bad thing. The more “The Fan” leans into its campy atmosphere, the more entertaining it becomes. The film gets increasingly lurid in its final act. Gil kidnaps Bobby's son and tells him that he'll kill the boy unless he hits a home run and dedicates it to him. The film attempts to stretch the suspense of this climatic baseball game out as long as possible, by repeatedly delaying the final pitch with sudden bursts of rain. This leads to a big confrontation on the baseball diamond, the movie growing increasingly overwrought. The last few acts of violence are so melodramatic that you just have to smile a little bit. I'm not sure if “The Fan” was trying to be overheated and trashy but the movie is still at its most amusing when heading in that direction. 

For Robert De Niro, the part of Gil Renard is a return to familiar territory. A fanatical loner who slowly grows more dangerous recalls “Taxi Driver” and “The King of Comedy,” some of his most famous parts. “The Fan” obviously does not have the nuance of those films. As he too often does when presented with material lacking depth, De Niro decides to simply ham it up instead. As I said, there's no doubt that Gil is a nut case from the opening scene and De Niro plays that one note hard. De Niro spends most of the movie making pissed-off faces, angrily yelling at people, or delivering silly dialogue in as loud a voice as possible. It's certainly entertaining watching one of the screen's most respected performers distract all actorly tact like this. Though it's also a little embarrassing, which is most evident during the movie's opening credits where De Niro reads a painfully bad poem about being a fan.

As a character and a performance, De Niro's Gil is most effective when paired with less outrageous people. The only time “The Fan” veers towards actual suspense is when Gil ingratiates himself to Bobby Ryback long enough to get into his home. Watching the ball player go from appreciating this stranger to slowly realizing he's unhinged is effective. That's largely thanks to Wesley Snipes, who gives a genuinely good performance. Snipes plays a batter who has a lot of pressure on him. Whether that's living up to a massively expensive contract or the wishes of a dying child fan, he's overwhelmed by expectations. That only makes it worst when he screws up and the fans turn on him. Snipes takes the overheated material seriously, managing to create an interesting character at a crisis point in his own life, trying to find peace between his professional obligations and his family life. A low-key drama about this same subject probably would've been more rewarding than “The Fan.”

If the lead role feels underwritten, there was no hope that the supporting parts in “The Fan” would have any depth to them. In order to compensate, the movie slots a number of familiar faces into these roles. John Leguizamo, re-appearing from “Revenge,” shows up as Bobby's agent. Leguizamo brings some soft sarcasm and amusing color to a nothing part. An incredibly overqualified Ellen Barkin shows up as a sports talk-radio host, adding far more energy and humor than was necessary to an unimportant role. Barkin is so delightfully bitchy that the movie makes repeated excuses to include her in scenes, even when there's no reason for her character to be there. Benicio del Toro is largely wasted as the rival ballplayer that takes Ryburn's number though. Also watch out for a smarmy bit part from Kurt Fuller and a blink-and-miss-it appearance from Jack Black.

“The Fan” is about fifty percent an attempt at a serious, high-minded psychological thriller and fifty percent trashy slasher flick. The first half of that equation is underwritten and largely tedious. The second half is enjoyably silly. This is two tastes that don't taste great together, leading to a movie that feels simultaneously thin and overdone. Audience and critics felt much the same way, as the movie received negative reviews and opened to piss-poor box office. (The most amusing pan came from the film's on-set baseball consultant, who concluded that the filmmakers didn't actually care about the terrible sport of baseball.) While there is some entertainment value in Scott's grandiose approach and watching a screen legend overact, “The Fan” fails to put a memorable spin on unimpressive material. I don't know, maybe the book was better... [Grade: C]