Print Edition: Feb. 22, 2015
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Everyone’s Hero swings for the fences. Does it reach?
BY STEVEN D. GREYDANUS
Who is Everyone’s Hero?
Perhaps it is Babe Ruth, the
Sultan of Swat and idol of millions — none more devoted than 10-year-old Yankee
Irving, whose father is a janitor at Yankee Stadium during the Great
Depression. (Voices: Brian Dennehy, Jake T. Austin
and Mandy Patinkin, in that order.)
Or it might be little Yankee
Irving himself, despite his starting out the film as the goat of a local
sandlot ballgame, striking out rather than taking the walk. (Yankee’s so short
he has no strike zone, so he could have walked if he weren’t so determined to
swing every time.) Despite this setback, by the climax, with its wildly
unrestrained indulgence of the film’s feel-good, wish-fulfillment gospel of
self-esteem, Yankee has a chance to make up for that failure and become
Everyone’s Hero to a rather over-the-top degree.
I suspect, though, that the filmmakers
may have been thinking of someone else: the late Christopher Reeve,
credited with directing the film, which he was developing with family and
colleagues when he unexpectedly died in 2004. Reeve, of course, played the
ultimate hero in Superman and Superman II. After his 1995 riding
accident, he showed enormous resolve battling his disability and continuing to
work, though his legacy was tarnished by his determined advocacy of embryonic
Everyone’s Hero isn’t just Reeve’s last film; it’s also a tribute to the late filmmaker
from the colleagues and family who finished the project in his name. As a
memorial, Everyone’s Hero is a
little, well, forgettable — old-fashioned, sweet, but ultimately disposable
family fare with echoes of better movies from Toy Story to The Iron Giant.
Like The Iron Giant, Everyone’s
Hero has a period setting, in this case the Great Depression, and a young,
big-eared protagonist who strives to keep an inanimate friend from the clutches
of a long-faced adult villain on a secret mission to get the object in
The villain in this case is
Chicago Cubs pitcher Lefty Maginnis (William H.
Macy), sent by his ruthless team owner (an uncredited
Robin Williams) to steal Babe Ruth’s lucky bat, nicknamed Darlin’,
thus enabling the Cubs to defeat the Yankees in the World Series. Say what?
Even non-sports fans will be nonplused at the thought of picking on the
Cubbies, of all teams, as the nefarious heavies. This is a team that, in real
life, hasn’t won a World Series since 1908. Heck, they haven’t even reached the championship since 1945.
Stranger, though, is the
arbitrariness of the movie’s fantasy element, in which young Yankee finds
himself communicating with an irascible baseball (Rob Reiner)
as well as Ruth’s bat Darlin’ (Whoopi
Goldberg), both of which talk in voices that only Yankee can hear and, for that
matter, have faces that only he can see. Also, no one else seems to notice them
moving around by themselves, although in one scene a stunned, bleary-eyed Lefty
Maginnis gets a cross-eyed glimpse of the bat and
ball making a hasty getaway.
In Toy Story, toys could talk. But they did so, with rare and
understandable exceptions, only when no one was looking. Here, there doesn’t
seem to be any rhyme or reason as to why, all of a sudden, these two particular
objects (and only these two) are freely communicating to Yankee (and only to
Yankee). In some fantasies, there are things that are perceptible only to
children, not to grown-ups, but that’s not the case here. They’re just an
ordinary ball and bat to other kids, including a couple of young bullies and a
spunky black girl named Marti (Raven-Symoné) who
helps Yankee fend off the bullies — and who turns out to be the daughter of a
Negro League pitcher (Forrest Whittaker).
Be that as it may, when Darlin’ is stolen from the Yankees’ locker room, only
Yankee Irving, visiting his father at the stadium at the time of the theft, has
a clue who did it. At stake is not only the World Series, but his father’s
employment, which was terminated as a result of the theft. So, with the
reluctant aid of his baseball friend, nicknamed Screwie,
Yankee sets off to intercept Maginnis en route to Chicago, retrieve the bat
and return it to its rightful owner.
Visually, the CGI animation is fine
though not outstanding, with a pleasant soft-focus pastel palette and
watercolor-like backgrounds. As you’d expect, the battle for the bat involves a
fair bit of slapstick, the best of which is a film highlight set on a pair of
moving trains, with Maginnis at one point atop a
train dodging oncoming obstacles with split-second timing.
Yankee’s parents are warmly and
sympathetically portrayed, as are Marti’s parents. A couple of scenes take a
stab at social conscience, as Yankee falls in with a trio of hobos and catches
a ride with a Negro League team. The film doesn’t explore or explain the status
of either, a choice that could arguably be construed either as a lost
opportunity or as refreshingly non-preachy.
Though fitfully entertaining, the
road trip eventually wears a little thin, as does the bickering schtick between Screwie and Darlin’. Neither ball nor bat has much in the way of
characterization or story arc. Unlike Toy
Story, Everyone’s Hero isn’t
particularly insightful regarding what motivates inanimate objects. They don’t
particularly matter as characters. Everyone’s
Hero is really about Yankee learning to believe in himself and just keep
swinging, no matter what anyone else says.
It’s a respectable theme,
competently delivered, though it goes off the rails in the climactic scene at
Wrigley Field. I won’t tell how in the Register. (If you want to get the
spoiler before or in lieu of seeing the movie, go to DecentFilms.com.) Suffice
it to say here that, even in a kiddie fantasy, the
misstep is glaring.
In the end, “Just keep swinging”
is a fine message. But, you know, so is being realistic about your limitations.
Even if you get to the plate, sometimes it makes sense to bunt or take the walk
rather than swing for the bleachers every time. And there’s a place for looking
up to those — like Babe Ruth — who can do things that you can’t.
You know. A
place for having a hero rather than having to be one.
For more of Steven D.
Greydanus’ writings on
movies, go to DecentFilms.com.
Some slapstick violence and mild peril; mild flatulence humor.
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