Director: Robert Lorenz
Rating PG-13. Running Time: 111 mins.
Stars: Clint Eastwood, Amy Adams, John Goodman
Like a big, looping knuckleball, Clint Eastwood's new movie Trouble With the Curve wanders amiably, threatens to go wild, but in the end settles smack in the middle of the plate.
Clint, now 82, plays Gus, a cranky old baseball scout who still pores over local newspaper sports pages for the inside dope on promising newbies — while his younger colleagues swear by electronic spreadsheets and computer models. He's been scouring minor league ballparks, inhaling red dirt and fertilizer (and smoke from the prodigious cigars he fancies) since the 1970s, and he's not about to change the way he does business, even though the young turks consider him a squinty-eyed, gobble-necked dinosaur.
See also: Classic baseball movies.
In other words, remember the hopelessly mired-in-the-past baseball scouts who went up against computer-savvy Brad Pitt in Moneyball? In Trouble With the Curve, those guys are the heroes and Pitt is the insufferable loser. And that's a universe in which I'm very comfortable.
Of course, substitute "cranky old baseball scout" with "boxing coach," "astronaut," "gunslinger" or "detective" and you've got an apt description for just about every character Clint has played for the last three decades or so. And that's fine, too. For those of us who have joined the old guards of our chosen professions, the notion of a seasoned pro who shares our reluctance to adapt while managing, against the odds, to excel in a brave new world is not just appealing, it's downright necessary.
And so we get Gus, whose struggles against old age are not just galling, they're career-threatening: He's developed severe sight problems, a seemingly insurmountable professional obstacle when your job is assessing the break on a rookie's curveball.
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But Gus has had a blind spot of another kind for decades: He's failed to see the heartbreak of his grown daughter, Mickey (adorable Amy Adams), the girl he virtually abandoned to the care of distant relatives after the death of his wife a quarter-century ago. Now a top-flight Atlanta lawyer, Mickey has understandable man issues, and her relationship with her dad involves an endless series of aborted dinners as one or the other inevitably ends up throwing down a napkin and stalking out.
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But they do love each other. When Gus' best friend and boss in the Atlanta Braves front office (John Goodman, lovably bearish as ever) sees his old pal struggling, he enlists Mickey to accompany Gus on a scouting trip to North Carolina. It is, naturally, just what dad and daughter need. In the course of a few days, Gus proves that his acumen extends beyond his eyesight, and Mickey discovers that maybe she can trust a man after all — especially if the man is twinkly-eyed Justin Timberlake, who pops up as a rival scout with good reasons to be fond of both Gus and Mickey. Most important, father and daughter discover the qualities each thought the other lacked, and at the fade-out we know everybody is going to live happily ever after, no matter how many innings they go.
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Except, of course, for those humiliated young turks, who once again have learned a thing or two from an old master.
Along the way, the hill country of North Georgia subs scenically for North Carolina, and first-time director Robert Lorenz does a nice job of evoking small-town America without condescension. (I especially liked the tattered sign outside Gus' motel, which reads: "Lowest rats in town.")
Occasionally, we wish it were Clint behind the camera — a climactic scene in which Gus finally explains to Mickey why he felt he was an unfit father is bungled; what should have been a pivotal moment becomes an afterthought — but at other times it seems as if the veteran star, relieved of directorial duties, is truly immersed in his character. Crouched at the grave of his wife, Gus whispers the words of their favorite song, "You Are My Sunshine." With each line, his profound sadness and regret push a bit closer to the surface, until at the end he can barely finish, and we can hardly stand it. It's not our place to know where Clint went inside himself to draw out that moment, but it stands as a reminder that Eastwood, for all his career iconography, remains a consummate screen actor.
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