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Film Review: Moneyball

Moneyball (2011; Directed by Bennett Miller)

Underdog tale, generation gap narrative, star vehicle, neo-romanticist sports film: Bennett Miller’s Moneyball is all of these things, sometimes practically at the same time. It narrativizes (and often fictionalizes) Michael Lewis’s book about the embrace of sabermetrics and other mathematical analytic models by the front office of Major League Baseball’s Oakland Athletics under General Manager Billy Beane in 2002. Well-acted and well-shot, Moneyball nonetheless incongruously commits the very sin that Beane sees the greying keepers of the conventional baseball wisdom committing on the regular and which he comes to believe he can no longer afford to rely on if he wishes to compete on an uneven playing field. It reduces complexity to simplicity, boiling down logical cogitation and rigorous data crunching to gut feelings and emotional motivations.

Given that Aaron Sorkin claims half of the screenwriting credit (with Steven Zaillian), this should not be unexpected. Sorkin framed the founding of Facebook in similar terms in The Social Network, a world-connecting platform whose creator alienated his best friend and was basely motivated by sexual/status-based rejection by both the opposite sex and the same sex. Therefore Beane (Brad Pitt) is driven not by the glory of winning or the promise of prestige or riches or even the personal satisfaction of success on his own terms, but by the sting of his own once-promising but failed playing career and by his love for his daughter (Kerris Dorsey).

Moneyball opens in 2001 with the A’s losing to the New York Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. It’s the have-nots vanquished by the haves, respectively, as onscreen statements of the glaring discrepancy in total team salaries lay bare. Beane’s frustration (repeatedly expressed in the film through the jock-ish outlet of throwing and breaking inanimate objects) in defeat deepens in the off-season, with his star players plucked by richer teams and the A’s owner refusing to expand the comparatively paltry payroll. It all comes to a head when Beane meets with his scouting staff, a roomful of old, mostly white men prattling on interminably about the shape of a favoured player’s jaw or how the ball sounds off the bat of a top prospect. Beane is blunt: his team cannot compete on the basis of the old rules of the game, and that’s all that these experienced but blinkered scouts or his stubborn manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman) can offer him.

He’s offered the fresh approach he’s looking for by a 20-something Yale economics graduate named Peter Brand (Jonah Hill, Hollywood’s premiere lumpy sidekick to presupposing alpha males at the moment). Beane comes across Brand in the offices of the Cleveland Indians, is impressed by his contrarian analysis on the basis of the complex mathematical algorithms devised and championed by Bill James, and basically bullies him into being his new assistant GM. A few unorthodox transactions and heated meetings with scouts and Howe later, Beane fields a baseball team that struggles to find its way but finally puts together an American League record 20 wins in a row before another first-round playoff exit.

“The Streak” (it even gets its own Tarantino-esque onscreen title to herald it) is the narrative climax of Moneyball, and the dramatic tension and unlikely hero element of the record-setting game is ripped straight from the inspirational sports movies whose emotional methodology Moneyball‘s core ethos seems poised to refute. But it never does, portraying the use of data to improve performance and results as a mere backdrop to the intangible magic of America’s hallowed pastime. Perhaps, ultimately it is, and neither Beane (who doesn’t even watch his team’s games live) nor the boyish Brand deny their enthusiasm for the game despite their willingness to reduce it to a torrent of numbers. Still, the record-clinching home run might as well have Randy Newman’s musical cue from The Natural playing under it, so staged is it in hands-aloft sporting glory terms.

Pitt plays his trademarked casually masculine A-type with straining thoughts on his mind to the hilt, and it got him an Oscar nomination to boot (as did Hill’s dialed-down work). Hoffman is subtly, inobtrusively convincing as the bluff, good-old-boy sort that invariably becomes a baseball manager (or maybe that baseball managers inevitable become; chicken or egg?). But what kind of movie, exactly, are they starring in?

It’s not an honest portrayal of a full-on Freakonomics-style overturning of conventional thinking, but then Beane’s revolution wasn’t exactly that in real life either (some of the risky signings of misfits portrayed in the film happened before the loss to the Yankees rather than after, and Howe was not as reluctant to go along with Beane’s philosophy as he is shown to be onscreen). It’s firmly couched in the language of the underdog sports narrative (the trailer below makes it look like a post-millenial major league Bad News Bears only with more long division), but that label only applies in the highly relative terms of the multi-million-dollar professional sports world and therefore loses much of its aspirational impact.

What Moneyball finally settles into becoming is a basically conventional sports drama, with conflict, adversity, and ultimately on-field triumph vindicating bold, non-conformist thinking and self-belief. Miller’s direction is controlled and calculated, like a fully-compiled spreadsheet, so it’s a particularly well-crafted example of such a film. But Moneyball aims for the heart and the gut when its subject moved away from such unreliable, non-rational calculi to gain an advantage over resource-rich rivals. A movie, of course, is not a data set. But like baseball, there’s useful information it can glean from one.

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Categories: Film, Reviews, Sports
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