Any Given Sunday Review
by Curtis Edmonds (blueduck AT hsbr DOT org)January 16th, 2000
Any Given Sunday: Stone Cold
by Curtis Edmonds -- [email protected]
14 January 2000
Mr. Oliver Stone
Hollywood, California 90210
Dear Mr. Stone:
I am writing you, well, because I figure I owe you some money. You see, I went to see your new movie, Any Given Sunday, the other night. This particular theater shows movies that are in their second or third week of release in this annex on the other side of the parking lot, and there's usually just one person there who takes tickets and serves popcorn. Anyway, when I walked into the annex, that person wasn't anywhere to be found. (I confess I didn't look that hard.) So, I walked right into the theater without paying a dime. I'm hoping that you'll tell me exactly how much of a fraction you'd receive out of the $7 dollars I didn't pay to see your movie, so I can send it to you.
I'm not all that worried about reimbursing the actors (especially Barry Switzer), or the theater, or the crew or your investors or whoever else it is that gets pieces of the pie. I do, however, want to salute you, from the bottom of my heart, for your outstanding efforts in creating Any Given Sunday -- probably the best cinematic practical joke of the year.
It took me a while to figure out what you were doing, of course, as you'd expect. Why, I walked out of Any Given Sunday convinced that it was a horrible movie, a cliche-ridden mess with hideous, screeching performances. At first, the whole thing looked like it was edited by a pack of genius high school sophomores anxious to try every bell and whistle on their Ronco Edit-O-Matic. And the apparent lapses of logic and common sense were just so grating. (Not to mention that you managed to put he-men football heroes like Al Pacino and Dennis Quaid in aprons.) How was I to know what you were thinking?
I didn't figure it out until I started writing an amateur movie review for the movie. I started focusing on your portrayal of the head coach, played by Al Pacino. This baffled me no end, Mr. Stone, let me tell you. The media hype you orchestrated had us believe that Any Given Sunday would blow the lid of the NFL, that it would be a searing expose of the seamy side of pro football.
And of course, it is, partly. We see all the things we expect to see -- drugs, women, letting players pay with potentially life-threatening injuries. But none of this is surprising, not really, and it would be hard for you to outdo the really embarrassing things that have already gone on the NFL's extensive police blotter this year anyway. (What is really surprising, to me anyway, is that everybody in the movie is really, really unhappy, in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for way.)
Anyway, one part of the seamy side -- as made apparent in the firings this week of real life coaches Chan Gailey and Ray Rhodes -- is the lack of loyalty shown by owners to hard-working coaches whose talent base has, through no fault of their own, eroded. You explore this quite a bit, but I was having problems with your take. What had me fooled is this: we never see Pacino work. Oh sure, he stands on the sidelines and yells. He talks to players in an avuncular tone when needed and delivers kick-butt sideline pep talks. But -- as you know -- this is not really what coaches do. Coaches work like dogs all the year 'round -- running practices and team meetings and looking at film and working up game strategy and designing plays and dealing with the media and God knows what. Pacino doesn't do any of that. He hangs out in bars and relaxes in his plush digs and goes to mayoral charity balls and whatnot. The only time he gets to talk football is with the team owner, the whiny Cameron Diaz. ("The running game!' Diaz complains loudly. "You're always talking about the boooring running game. Throw some more touchdown passes.")
Since Any Given Sunday begins with a quote from Vince Lombardi, it might be easy to assume that you mean for audiences to identify the Pacino character with Lombardi, or Shula, or Paul Brown, or any of the great coaches of the past. (As a Cowboys fan, I appreciated your having a Landryesque coach on one of the opposing teams.) And then I realized: Pacino's not supposed to represent these other coaches.
He's supposed to represent you.
That's it, isn't it? I mean, it's obvious if you think about it. Football head coaches and movie directors are two peas in a pod. You both work too hard and have to deal with burnout. Most of your real work is behind the scenes on the necessary drudgery of your professions. You both have to deal with prima-donna actors/quarterbacks. You both have to deal with team owners/studio bosses who don't really understand what you do, don't give you the resources you need, and who scream a you every time you don't put forth a winning effort. And you have to deal with fans and reporters who don't really understand what you do, either, but are the first to criticize you about it. (Movie directing must be even worse, what with all the smart-alecks out there who think they're movie reviewers.)
And... ultimately, you're the ones that are responsible if things go bad. Just as NFL owners fire the coach instead of firing the team, it's the director, rather than the actors, who is at fault if the movie fails. (And the actors/players are the ones who get the most credit for victories, aren't they? Ask Rob Reiner if you don't know what I'm talking about.)
This explains why there's so much glitz and so little substance to the Pacino character, too. After all, you're not going to make someone who is playing you less than glamorous, are you? Of course not.
So -- if I'm right, and this is just a practical-jokey way of making a biopic about yourself, then it really doesn't matter that the rest of the movie stinks. The horrible editing, the annoying, whiny performances, (excepting Jim Brown as the defensive coordinator and Jamie Foxx as the young QB) and the wretchedly cliched final game sequence -- all of these things are extraneous. We shouldn't worry about them. We should just understand the code and enjoy the movie from there, right? Right?
Because... well... if I'm wrong, and this is not some sort of joke you're pulling, that means that this is a really, really bad film with nothing to redeem it, and... well... that just isn't possible.
Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and thank you once again for filming part of your movie in Texas. The film industry is very important ot the Lone Star State, and your movies like Born on the Fourth of July and JFK have been milestones in our state's cinematic history. Good luck on your next picture.
Sincerely,
Curtis D. Edmonds
Film Critic
P.S. Oswald acted alone.
--
Curtis Edmonds
[email protected]
Movie Reviews:
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