Four stars. Rating: PG-13, for occasional profanity and some sexual references
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.21.12
Even the most familiar material
will become vibrant in the hands of seasoned pros.
Randy Brown’s impressive debut
script for Trouble with the Curve turns this film into a quiet little charmer
that focuses on both sports and the angst-laden trauma of a long-estranged
father and daughter. Along the way, Brown also scores perceptive points about
loyalty, workaholics, the ageist contempt of youth, and the soul-grinding aggravation
of growing old.
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| Veteran baseball scout Gus (Clint Eastwood) is having trouble with his vision, but he dares not acknowledge this, lest he lose his job. Enter Mickey (Amy Adams), his long-estranged and only child, who reluctantly serves as her father's eyes while attempting to re-kindle a bond once characterized by love and a shared devotion to their favorite sport. |
Star Clint Eastwood continues to
be at the top of his game, delivering another riff on the “crusty ol’ coot”
persona that has served him well in projects ranging from the light-hearted Space Cowboys to the far more serious Gran Torino. His work here slides
between those two extremes; Gus Lobel has become too cranky to be actually
likable — the ravages of old age merely amplifying his less pleasant qualities
— but we sympathize with him nonetheless.
Gus is an old-style baseball
scout, long employed by the Atlanta Braves, who loves hunkering in the
bleachers and bathing in the magic of the sport’s “true, sweet sound.” He’ll
never accept computer-driven stats as a replacement for his devotion to poring
over newspapers and tip sheets, and then watching the players, in order to draw
his own conclusions.
He is, in short, a dinosaur: an
object of ridicule to number-crunching Braves associate scouting director
Phillip Sanderson (Matthew Lillard), who insists that computers can do it
faster and far more accurately. Pete Klein (John Goodman), chief of scouts and
also Gus’ longtime best friend, is finding it harder and harder to defend the
“old ways” to Braves General Manager Vince Freeman (Robert Patrick).
At this crucial moment, with Gus’
contract due to expire in three months, things get even worse as his eyesight
begins to fail; an expanding circle in the center of his vision has grown
blurry. A reluctant trip to his optometrist confirms the worst: glaucoma and
macular degeneration.
The timing couldn’t be worse,
because Gus’ next assignment involves a trip to North Carolina, to observe hot
Swannanoa High School prospect Bo Gentry (Joe Massingill). The Braves really,
really want this kid, and Sanderson is leading that charge; Gus, not to be
rushed, wants to reach his own conclusions ... but that’ll be difficult, if he
can’t see how Bo handles a pitch.
Enter Gus’ long-estranged
daughter, Mickey (Amy Adams), a tightly wound associate at a high-powered Atlanta law firm,
who has sacrificed everything to sprint along the fast track toward
partnership. Mickey essentially has no life outside the office, but this is
less a function of ambition, and more a self-defensive coping mechanism.
Once upon a time, long ago,
Mickey and her father were inseparable, of necessity; her mother died when she
was 6. Gus subsequently hauled his only child along on all his scouting
assignments, and she grew to love the male-dominated atmosphere of swearing,
joshing and drinking straight whisky. She also adores baseball to every
possible degree, having reluctantly sublimated her talent for player stats in
favor of torts and legal precedents.
Pete, sensing something wrong
with his old buddy, visits Mickey and encourages her to join Gus in North
Carolina. Consider it a vacation, Gus suggests. Mickey, literally up to her
eyeballs with the case that could help her make partner, declines. But she
can’t bury her concern, knowing that her proud, stubborn father would be lost
without his career.
So she does what we all try to
do, at such moments: She grimly decides to cover both bases, helping her father
by day — if he’ll have her — and completing the legal work by night.
The reunion doesn’t start well.
“I don’t need your help,” Gus
growls. “I don’t know why you don’t just go home.”
“Because I feel this
dysfunctional sense of responsibility to make sure that you’re okay,” Mickey
replies, both stung and defiant.
Brown’s script is laced with
similarly tart exchanges: often designed to elicit a chuckle, but nonetheless
carrying an undercurrent of pain and hard truth. The brittle father/daughter
dynamic will feel familiar to those who enjoyed Million Dollar Baby, where
Eastwood’s Frankie Dunn resisted developing a relationship with Hilary Swank’s
Maggie Fitzgerald.
Swank made Maggie impossible to resist,
though, and the same is true of Adams’ Mickey: She’s spunky, smart and
personable, and we begin to wonder about the reason for the distance Gus keeps
between them. What the heck happened, back in the day?
Eastwood still get considerable
mileage from the reluctant smile that occasionally escapes from behind his
familiar scowl, and he quite persuasively conveys the anger of a long-independent
man who recognizes — but refuses to accept — the limitations resulting from his
advancing years. He positively rages, and of course Mickey becomes the handiest
target; we can’t help flinching at his many spiteful words, which land on her
like physical blows.
Adams makes Mickey the epitome of
multi-tasking talent, while allowing us to recognize that this is something of
a charade. For all her poise, this woman is deeply conflicted and vulnerable,
and Gus knows precisely how to punch all her buttons.
Enter the catalyst for a change:
Johnny Flanagan (Justin Timberlake), once one of Gus’ best prospects, and a
truly talented pitcher who made the majors but then blew out his arm through
injudicious use. Now hoping to become a sports announcer, he’s currently
working as a rival scout; Johnny looks up to Gus, and of course goes absolutely
potty over Mickey. (Who wouldn’t?)
Timberlake, it must be said, is
nauseatingly talented. Well-established pop-star career aside, he’s also a
smooth, natural actor with an easy grace in front of the camera, and a facility
for the witty, come-hither dialogue that serves as flirting between Johnny and
Mickey. They’re adorable together, and we’re reminded anew that his solid
performances in The Social Network and the unjustly maligned In Time were
no flukes.
Lillard is marvelously, hissably
smarmy as the villain of the piece: the guy who deserves whatever humiliation
(we hope) retribution has in store. But he’s not the only jerk in this story;
Massingill makes Bo a hatefully smug egotist, a little bastard who, sadly, has
the talent to get away with the attitude. We hate him just as much.
Goodman exudes warmth and
sensitivity as Pete, and Gus spends much of his time with fellow “geezer scout”
colleagues entertainingly played by Ed Lauter, Chelcie Ross and Ray Anthony
Thomas. Watch early on for an appearance by Eastwood’s son, Scott, as Billy
Clark, an earlier Gus Lobel discovery currently suffering through a batting
slump.
Robert Lorenz, making his
directorial debut here, is a longtime colleague of Eastwood’s, having served as
producer or second-unit director since 1995’s The Bridges of Madison County. He makes an accomplished transition to the Big Guy’s Chair, drawing credible
and comfortable performances from everybody in the cast. Lorenz also has a good
ear for dialogue, and he’s careful not to rely overmuch on the tight close-ups
that artificially emphasize an emotional scene.
Eastwood has always been a
director who lets his actors do the work; Lorenz clearly learned that lesson.
Production designer James J.
Murakami easily helps the all-Georgia shooting locations stand in for North
Carolina; various Atlanta bars and diners convey the rootless existence of
scouts who live on the road, as they observe small farm clubs, high school and
college games.
Everything comes together with
panache. This is “comfort viewing”: a movie unlikely to make cinematic history,
but still the sort of engaging drama that rewards repeat exposure, and likely
will wind up in many home libraries.
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