Yoda Reviews Baseball Movies

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I think that's a pretty good guess. I "found" it quite late, after having seen lots of other baseball movies. For example, I'd probably seen Major League (which obviously owes it quite a debt) a dozen times before I ever saw Bull Durham, which is one of the reasons I led with the bit about influential films and how we see the things they influenced before we see the source. To me Major League was just as fresh, in the baseball-but-for-grown-ups sense, because I'd never seen a movie like that before. And I find it funnier and more moving. Would I still find it as fresh and delightful, comparatively, if I'd seen the films chronologically? I'll never know.
No, you wouldn't. As somebody who saw them as they were released, there is no way anyone would confuse Major League as fresh or innovative. You might like it, and what one finds funny is what they find funny, but it is derivative.
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So it goes. Nobody experiences cinema chronologically. And if something comes along that iterates on someone else's innovation, you may well like it more. And yeah, I find it much funnier, freshness aside.



I haven't seen any of these well known baseball movies. Actually I've never even seen a baseball game
what!

So I can't really comment on Yoda's ratings directly but I do have a question for Yoda. Is a
an average movie or above average in your mind? I ask because I think us MoFos sometimes view the popcorn ratings differently than the next person.
Oh yeah, there's also that, about how ratings don't just mean different things to different people, but even the numbers themselves translate differently even aside from the thing being measured.

I'm sure I do this imperfectly, but generally I think of it in perfectly straightforward terms:
is average.



Trouble with a capital "T"
...I think of it in perfectly straightforward terms:
is average.
That was MarkF's philosophy on rating movies (I believe). I know it seemed like he rated movies he liked low, but 2.5 was the mid mark between 0-5 so an average film. There's no right or wrong way of course, but I think other MoFos including myself consider a
average as they don't use or consider a 0 rating as legit. Anyway, what I'm getting at is your 3 rating is equal to many of our 3.5 ratings so your rating might seem low but isn't. Hope that makes sense



That makes sense, yeah.

It feels like most people rate films as if they know the filmmakers, or the people involved might read the review, and sort of nudge it higher. We've got almost 40,000 ratings in the database, for example, and the average is just under
. Granted, there's probably some selection bias in that people tend to rate films they like more than ones they don't, but I don't think that explains all of it. I think people's center of gravity on ratings is probably closer to
.



A League of Their Own (1992)


In a sentence: Two sisters join a women's baseball league that springs up to compensate for the young men off fighting World War 2.



Baseball is a distraction.

All sports and games are distractions, but baseball is particularly well-suited to the task. For one, it's complicated. This is easy to forget if you grew up watching it. I played softball with a man from Trinidad a few years ago, who had never played before, and it wasn't until I tried to explain the rules, exceptions, and edge cases around baserunning to him that I realized just how strange and unguessable so much of it is. Baseball requires focus and physical precision, but cannot be brute forced like some other sports. It has neither the simplicity of soccer or the intuitiveness of basketball. It is not fully a game of strength or finesse. It is incredibly contrived and can only be played in ideal conditions.

Never is baseball's role as distraction more obvious than in times of turmoil. Its long history, its day-in, day-out nature, it's constant thereness, make it like a friend who talks you down, takes you out somewhere to forget your troubles. Who does this lonely nation turn its eyes to, but Joe DiMaggio?

It's in times of crisis that things like this can be the most valuable. During World War 2, baseball continued, but some of its greatest players were gone. There was a void, a need for something fun, energetic, and fresh. And that something was the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. A league filled with women. Women left at home while the fate of the world was being decided, women cutting back or contributing in other ways, women trying to get through the day like everyone else who stayed behind. Some of them living in constant fear that any day a man with a letter and a flag would cut their life in half.





If you've seen this film you're probably wondering what on earth I'm talking about, because none of the above conveys what A League of Their Own feels like. It is not full of dread and despair, but of hope and humor. It, like the game it depicts, walks right up to those fears and sits right next to it, and then monopolizes the conversation. But the fear is always there, interrupting us between innings.

Dottie and Kit work on a farm. They play amateur baseball. Dottie is the older of the two, and married. Her husband is overseas. Kit is younger. She is single. She is hungry, antsy, dissatisfied. And, eventually, resentful, when a talent scout for the new women's league recruits her sister but not her. Dottie can take it or leave it, but Kit wants it desperately, and gets to come along for the ride. And this act of kindness, like so many acts of kindness, builds resentment rather than thankfulness.

Fans of any subgenre of film come to know its conventions well, and our eyes glaze over when they end up on rails, like with the obligatory romantic subplots, or the standard tribulations, or team infighting, or a hundred other clichés. A League of Their Own never does this. Every scene has something interesting, something funny, some little treat of expression or dialogue. The jokes are alternatingly silly and witty, and the performances are top notch. Absolutely nothing is wasted. In a lesser version of itself, the scout who discovers the girls (Jon Lovitz) would just be some guy, just some mouthpiece barking out the Call to Action to get things moving. Instead, he's oozing with personality.



This comparison might surprise people, but the vibe I get here is similar to Soderbergh's Ocean's 11 remake. There's a feeling of mastery, a feeling that this was easy for the people involved. Everyone feels overqualified. The role of Jimmy Dugan, former player and now manager in this startup league, is a significant one, but you don't need Tom freakin' Hanks to make it work. And when you cast Tom freakin' Hanks anyway, you elevate the character. As good as "there's no crying in baseball!" is, there's no way that becomes the most quoted line in the history of baseball movies without him. Rosie O'Donnell and Madonna in secondary roles? Ann Cusack with, like, three lines? Tea Leoni as a glorified extra?

There was a restaurant near where I live a few years ago that served elevated comfort food. You know the kind: perfect chicken pot pies that cost $20. That's what this felt like. Penny Marshall is a Michelin-level chef crafting the Platonic ideal of a fast food cheeseburger.


How's the Baseball?

Good for what it is. It would be weird and unnatural, given the premise, to make the game action especially fast or violent. And part of the point of all this is that we experience sports relatively: if you're up in the bottom of the 9th, it doesn't matter that you're playing Little League. All sports, all games, are the drawing of arbitrary lines to try to measure something undefinable. Little compartments cordoned off from the rest of the world, trying to capture an ineffable something as purely as we can.

All sports have that in their nature, but baseball doubles down on it. It adds to it the fleeting promise of summer, the jubilation of the solstice and the immediate melancholy of the coming equinox. Please, just one more game. Just one more inning. Just one more at bat before it gets dark. And there was a time where even the highest heights of the game reflected this. Wrigley Field, where the tryouts in this film were shot, was the last Major League park to add lights...in 1988. They played nothing but day games for 74 years. Every game full of grownups racing the setting sun to the last inning, like kids playing in the street.

And that was even more true of this league, something everybody knew couldn't last, just a bridge before things could get back to the way they were. And Jimmy says this to Dottie; after her husband is discharged, she readies to leave, and he tells her something she already knows: this chance isn't going to come again. If you don't take it you'll regret it forever. If you don't play ball in the summer you'll rue it in the fall. The AAGPBL was, within this summer sport, a little summer of its own, an ephemeral league based around an ephemeral game, a day in the sun to distract us from the winter of the war.


Do They Win?

Trick question: Kit is traded midseason and they play each other, so one of them is bound to win. But our entry point is the Peaches; we don't really know the girls on Kit's new team, and "they," meaning the team we've been following, do not win. Kit gets the game-winning hit, bowling over her sister Dottie, who drops the ball. And to the film's credit, there is no contrived ambiguity about whether she meant to, though some people insist she did.

To my mind, she lost fair and square. The way we know this is because Kit finally hits the high pitch, the one she couldn't hit and couldn't lay off. Of course we expect that she'll finally grow up, listen to her sister, stop being so stubborn, and wait for a better pitch. Instead, her stubbornness pays off. It has to, because that's who she is: Dottie is the smart one, the strategic one, the one who can take or leave the game and approach it dispassionately. Kit gets by on sheer determination, and this is reflected in her triumph. It's a validation of their differences, rather than a capitulation or a compromise. It is a very surprising and interesting choice, and one of several indicators of this film's thoughtfulness.





There are a few things about this film that I keep thinking about.

The first is struggle between the game and the backdrop of reality. I have a tendency to overthink things, so when I have a strong emotional reaction to anything, I think about why. And one of the reasons I love baseball is that it short circuits this. It takes over my mind. I'll go into a game worried sick about something and, while I'm playing, completely forget it. This is so rare and valuable and lovely to me that it's always a shock when it comes rushing back into my mind. In the way someone might use a substance to forget or distract themselves, baseball is a drug that quiets my mind, a mix of strategy and translation into physical movement that fills both hemispheres to the brim and allows me to live in the moment. But it's only a reprieve. When I was younger I thought the scene where one of the players learns of her husband's death in the war was dissonant, but now that I'm older I appreciate its necessity.



The other is the gulf between the sisters. Dottie's easy talent and grace contrasted with Kit's high-effort frustration. The two types of players: the natural, and the grinder. Preternatural feel against sheer will. The ballerina and the break dancer. And this extends to everything: Dottie is the prettier one, the content one, the one who needs the game less than the game needs her. Kit has nothing else, and needs nothing more.

At the highest heights of baseball, you mostly find people who are both: insane natural talents and winners of a genetic lottery who nonetheless work as if they had no natural advantages at all. That's where you find excellence at the highest level. But below that level, in the minors, or in Little League, or in the AAGPBL, you have a mix of genius and grit. It's a level low enough that not everyone is gifted, and not everyone is going all out, a melting pot that contains the most diverse set of experiences with the game. Where wildly different people can come together in the same place, in that little box of baseball, roped off from the rest of reality.

Why is there no crying in baseball? Because there'll be plenty of that when the game ends.



Eight Men Out was a favorite of mine as a teen. I rewatched it a couple years ago for the first time in probably twenty years and it didn’t exactly hold up for me. I still liked it but was definitely disappointed it didn’t hit as hard as I remembered. Good shout out. Hopefully Yoda will review it.
That's another one I've seen a couple of times. It's been a while but I remember liking it.


Re: 42, I saw it several years ago and I remember not being that big on it. Have it rated at 2/5, but I would have to dig up my exact thoughts on it. Don't remember a lot of specifics.
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It’s A Classic Rope-A-Dope
Another great review of an awesome movie. I’m loving the personal touches you are bringing to these. I rewatched it last year, it had been a minute, and I was concerned about it holding up. It certainly did for me. There’s a handful of movies that when brought up I instantly think of 3 or 4 individual scenes that just bring a smile to my face. LOTO has that kind of nostalgia hit for me.

Your anecdote at the beginning of explaining the game to someone who has never watched it resonated so much. When I was in HS I always worked at camps in the summer. Usually we had some other counselors who were from overseas. One year on a long weekend break a bunch of us went to Yankee Stadium. There were about 5 people from England with us who had absolutely no idea how baseball worked. That night was a revelation on how baffling and difficult baseball is from a point of view that didn’t grow up with. Just explaining when force outs don’t happen is a chore. It’s interesting.
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I might be a little idiosyncratic here, but I don't think of ratings as summaries of reviews. I think of them as another measure entirely. Specifically, I try to rate things based on how well they achieve what they're trying to achieve, and only deviate from that in exceptional circumstances. In a vacuum Bull Durham is a much better movie than Jackass 3D, but whether it's a better version of itself is tougher to say.
So, if I may ask, you believe that all genres are created equal, and even if not then a musical that possibly couldn't be better is a 10/10 just like a psychological drama that couldn't be better is a 10/10 even though one can be way superior to the other in your view? Also, do you do this "couldn't be better" for just genres or more than that? I imagine more than that. One problem I see with this is thinking a film couldn't possibly be any better but still thinking it was bad for what it was. In such a case you're giving a 10/10 to a film you effectively dislike. Say, "could this brutal movie I think is violence porn could be any better?". No, because if it weren't as brutal, it wouldn't be a Splatter film, but as far as Splatter films go, this is a 10/10, even though I hated it.

Sometimes you appreciate them on a craft level, sometimes on an entertainment level, sometimes on a thematic level. The ones that hit all those sweet spots are the ones we usually give 5’s to.
You mean you give a 5 to films that you appreciate on the craft level, entertainment level, and thematic level all at once?

I say that to say every time I give out a 3, it doesn’t mean that I think it’s the same exact movie as every 3 I have given out.
I don't think it's the exact same movie as every 3 I have given out, but I think it's a movie with a similar quality as every 3 I have given out. Every 3/5 film for me is inferior to every 3.5/5 film and superior to every 2.5/5 film. Not all 3/5 films are equal, but to discern that I'd have to include more possibilities like 3.55 is better than 3.54, but that's confusing, and I'm not sure I really want this level of detail.

Nobody experiences cinema chronologically.
You clearly never heard of PUNQ.
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So, if I may ask, you believe that all genres are created equal, and even if not then a musical that possibly couldn't be better is a 10/10 just like a psychological drama that couldn't be better is a 10/10 even though one can be way superior to the other in your view?
Yes. In short, my ratings are usually for the film itself and not necessarily comparable to any other rating. That said, most films have similar enough aims that I use them to calibrate each other. Jackass 3D is an extreme example because it's really not comparable to much else.

Also, do you do this "couldn't be better" for just genres or more than that? I imagine more than that. One problem I see with this is thinking a film couldn't possibly be any better but still thinking it was bad for what it was.
Aye. I did/do leave myself some wiggle room here in mentioning exceptional circumstances. If something achieves its goal, but its goal is abjectly stupid or ridiculous, or incredibly dull, I'll take that into consideration. But that's pretty rare, most films fall into that big fat middle distribution where their goals are reasonable enough and high end to rate well if they achieve them.

Is this highly subjective? Of course. But I find the idea of rating films at all to be tremendously flawed no matter how we go about it, and the most rigorous examples of how to do it (as a curve based on everything you've ever seen) would require an untenable amount of revisiting and reevaluating. This is just my idea of the least bad way to go about it. It's what I imagine is most useful.

One thing I like about this approach is that it gives me a lot of leeway to give higher ratings to interesting failures.



Sean has noticed something that I imagine most of you are noticing, too: I have tricked you. I have tricked you all into reading things that are maybe 40% movie reviews and 60% waxing poetic about baseball.

I’m loving the personal touches you are bringing to these.
In some cases I'm specifically choosing films because of those personal connections. Or films that, even if they're not good, even if nobody would ever ask for them, they capture a specific side of baseball that other films haven't. My hope is that, by the end of this, we'll be able to see the whole elephant, as it were.

I rewatched it last year, it had been a minute, and I was concerned about it holding up. It certainly did for me. There’s a handful of movies that when brought up I instantly think of 3 or 4 individual scenes that just bring a smile to my face. LOTO has that kind of nostalgia hit for me.
Yeah, there's really no substitute for those, the ones that hit you at the right age and/or level of experience, with baseball, movies, or both. And baseball has a whole preexisting heritage it brings with it, that, if it happens to connect with you, comes flooding back along with it every time.

Your anecdote at the beginning of explaining the game to someone who has never watched it resonated so much. When I was in HS I always worked at camps in the summer. Usually we had some other counselors who were from overseas. One year on a long weekend break a bunch of us went to Yankee Stadium. There were about 5 people from England with us who had absolutely no idea how baseball worked. That night was a revelation on how baffling and difficult baseball is from a point of view that didn’t grow up with. Just explaining when force outs don’t happen is a chore. It’s interesting.
Definitely. And there's something in those idiosyncrasies, in the way baseball is taught, tutored, inherited, that I'll be writing about before long in something "between" reviews that connects a few of them together.



The trick is not minding
You clearly never heard of PUNQ.
Almost everybody serious about films that has a Letterboxd account knows about PUNQ. That man has almost reached Mark F levels of movie watching.



Almost everybody serious about films that has a Letterboxd account knows about PUNQ. That man has almost reached Mark F levels of movie watching.

Now there's a man who can watch three movies at once. Most I've ever successfully done is two.



Now there's a man who can watch three movies at once. Most I've ever successfully done is two.
My response to Yoda was a half-joke because PUNQ logs new films, too.

Apparently, the guy has admitted that many of the films he watches are just playing in the background while he does chores/work. Another cheater if true.



My response to Yoda was a half-joke because PUNQ logs new films, too.

Apparently, the guy has admitted that many of the films he watches are just playing in the background while he does chores/work. Another cheater if true.

I sometimes write when I watch a movie, but when I'm doing chores that's album time and not movie time. I mean, I'm watching a war scene in The Norseman (1978) right now, and I'm still putting together some good thoughts on it.



I've half-watched films or watched them in the background, but a) it's very rare and b) it's pretty much exclusively films I would otherwise never watch.



I sometimes write when I watch a movie, but when I'm doing chores that's album time and not movie time. I mean, I'm watching a war scene in The Norseman (1978) right now, and I'm still putting together some good thoughts on it.
Yeah, that's cheating. But at least you're not pretending you beat the World Record for most films watched in a year as PUNQ does.

I've half-watched films or watched them in the background, but a) it's very rare and b) it's pretty much exclusively films I would otherwise never watch.
a) is good b) means you shouldn't watch them at all. Why even do it if you wouldn't anyway?



a) is good b) means you shouldn't watch them at all. Why even do it if you wouldn't anyway?
The answer to b) is case-by-case, but usually it's because I simply want to know or understand some discrete thing about the film. Kind of like looking something up in a textbook rather than reading it cover to cover.

I would not generally pretend I had really watched it after this. I don't usually, for example, rate or review it or anything like that.

Don't wanna get too far into abstract viewing discussions though, so if anyone wants to continue we should spin this off into another thread.