Kelly WandAny Given Sunday
October 17th 2006 06:44
It isn’t my fault. I just don’t get sport. I don’t understand the obsession and the near religious fever. It is just a bunch of morons kicking a ball around. I remember the type from school. Barely coherent, their knuckles always bleeding from the constant dragging of flesh against pavement, they were displayed as something to aspire to; a crazed notion of evolution in reverse.
Not only did they receive all the laurels for athletic prowess, when it came to academic awards they were similarly blessed. This was not because these Supermen were the best in the field but because they were the most improved. Johnny Football Star has learned to spell ‘Cat’. Now that’s the kind of academic triumph that deserves a scholarship.
Jealous? Moi? No, this is more of an uncomprehending scream at a godless universe. This is existential angst. This is what the internet was invented for. Fortunately, I discovered rock and roll. Even today that allows me the opportunity to go out and not surrender my entire life to the cathode ray.
I have, however, just watched “Any Given Sunday”, a film about the singularly most absurd game ever devised; American Football. Having worked security at a game, I feel well qualified to call it the nadir of sporting experiences. It just went on and on. There were time outs and breaks to allow one half of a team to walk off and the other half to walk on. If there was ever an opportunity the game even more dreary, these boys took it.
It wasn’t like the teams didn’t know how boring this was. When the play paused, the dancing girls danced, the music blared and the fire works blasted. I still didn’t get it. It’s still just a bunch of dumb guys kicking a frigging ball around.
“Any Given Sunday” is a testosterone fuelled juggernaut. It is completely brainless. Every frame is stuffed full of reprehensible characters you’d walk a mile from given a chance. It is like some giant rock and roll Caligula. Every sporting cliché you can imagine is wrapped around a sledge hammer and slammed into your face by some of the finest actors in the world. They go for it as if they are doing Hamlet. It just isn’t right.
And the terrible thing is, I get it. If this is what sport is all about then now I get it. I’d even go so far as to say I like it.
Of course, sport isn’t like this. This is Oliver Stone having a wank about what he thinks sport should be. This is all warrior poet bullshit. Go to a men’s locker room sometime and you can read examples of this warrior poetry.
Oliver Stone is one of the most surrealistic directors alive. Actually, it is more like he inflates realism until it splits at the seems. The struggles we see in “Platoon”, “Wall Street”, “Salvador”, “JFK” and “Natural Born Killers” have all been pumped up on a course of steroids until they become like unto the myths of Ancient Greece. If football is the religion of the masses, Stone realises he must invest his film in the stuff of legends.
That being said, I don’t knock Horror movies for their lack of realism. Despite myself I really enjoyed this film. I found myself caring about who won. I found myself rooting for the team. I wanted victory. I demanded victory. Give me blood!
That doesn’t mean I felt good about myself. In fact, I felt dirty afterwards but not in an Oliver Stone homo-erotic kind of a way. This film showed me how the other half lived. I felt how they felt and loved like they loved.
Fortunately, I can put the DVD back in the case where it belongs.
Not only did they receive all the laurels for athletic prowess, when it came to academic awards they were similarly blessed. This was not because these Supermen were the best in the field but because they were the most improved. Johnny Football Star has learned to spell ‘Cat’. Now that’s the kind of academic triumph that deserves a scholarship.
Jealous? Moi? No, this is more of an uncomprehending scream at a godless universe. This is existential angst. This is what the internet was invented for. Fortunately, I discovered rock and roll. Even today that allows me the opportunity to go out and not surrender my entire life to the cathode ray.
I have, however, just watched “Any Given Sunday”, a film about the singularly most absurd game ever devised; American Football. Having worked security at a game, I feel well qualified to call it the nadir of sporting experiences. It just went on and on. There were time outs and breaks to allow one half of a team to walk off and the other half to walk on. If there was ever an opportunity the game even more dreary, these boys took it.
It wasn’t like the teams didn’t know how boring this was. When the play paused, the dancing girls danced, the music blared and the fire works blasted. I still didn’t get it. It’s still just a bunch of dumb guys kicking a frigging ball around.
“Any Given Sunday” is a testosterone fuelled juggernaut. It is completely brainless. Every frame is stuffed full of reprehensible characters you’d walk a mile from given a chance. It is like some giant rock and roll Caligula. Every sporting cliché you can imagine is wrapped around a sledge hammer and slammed into your face by some of the finest actors in the world. They go for it as if they are doing Hamlet. It just isn’t right.
And the terrible thing is, I get it. If this is what sport is all about then now I get it. I’d even go so far as to say I like it.
Of course, sport isn’t like this. This is Oliver Stone having a wank about what he thinks sport should be. This is all warrior poet bullshit. Go to a men’s locker room sometime and you can read examples of this warrior poetry.
Oliver Stone is one of the most surrealistic directors alive. Actually, it is more like he inflates realism until it splits at the seems. The struggles we see in “Platoon”, “Wall Street”, “Salvador”, “JFK” and “Natural Born Killers” have all been pumped up on a course of steroids until they become like unto the myths of Ancient Greece. If football is the religion of the masses, Stone realises he must invest his film in the stuff of legends.
That being said, I don’t knock Horror movies for their lack of realism. Despite myself I really enjoyed this film. I found myself caring about who won. I found myself rooting for the team. I wanted victory. I demanded victory. Give me blood!
That doesn’t mean I felt good about myself. In fact, I felt dirty afterwards but not in an Oliver Stone homo-erotic kind of a way. This film showed me how the other half lived. I felt how they felt and loved like they loved.
Fortunately, I can put the DVD back in the case where it belongs.
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