LEATHERHEADS
by Chris Knipp

It's true that Leatherheads, a light comedy about the rise of pro football in the Twenties, isn't by any means as interesting as the two other movies George Clooney has directed, but it's got one key thing they didn't have: Clooney himself as the star. As Dodge Connolly, a free-wheeling WWII vet who takes the game to a new level by bringing in a college ace, with both men competing for the affections of a feisty lady journalist (Renée Zellweger), Clooney in person gives his movie a warm center of invincible charm. I also, for the first time, see the point of Ms. Zellweger.

The period feel is pretty nice, most of all when there are dozens of Model T's in view racing a coal-burning train. George has done a swell job of directing. The dialog is full of quick paced old fashioned zinger material. Randy Newman's Jazz Age-inspired score helps keep the mood light. One trouble: the story. Some parts of it are rather hard to care about. The events aren't wildly hilarious or earth-shaking. But on the other hand, the bubble and charm last right through to the end.

Leatherheads takes place at a time in American sports history when college football draws crowds of 40,000, but the professional game lags far, far behind. Pro teams are so poor Dodge Connolly's, the Duluth Bulldogs, can barely afford one football and only a handful of spectators show up. Horning in on a sleazy rich manager number called CC Frazier (Jonathan Pryce), Dodge contrives to bring the pro game up to the college level by recruiting Princeton's biggest pigskin star, Carter "The Bullet" Rutherford (John Krasinski) whose mug is already much used in advertising.

I wasn't quite sure why Rutherford agrees to leave college and a guaranteed future in the law; I guess just because he likes to play. A major aim of Leatherheads is to evoke a time--it was Prohibition, after all--when the rules weren't written down and life, like sport, was easier, simpler, and more fun. People didn't worry too much about money--as the coming Great Crash was to show--and maybe a law career wasn't so crucial and finishing college could be put off.

"The Bullet" is another WWI vet like Dodge, reputed to have persuaded a whole squad of German soldiers to surrender by the mere sound of his voice. Lexie Littleton (Ms. Z.), the Chicago Tribune's best reporter, is called in by her editor to follow Rutherford's entry into the pro game--and cause a sensation by puncturing his war hero status, because a rumor says it's unjustified. While Lexie's falling for the gridiron champ and turning into a sports reporter, Dodge Connolly's falling for her. All, needless to say, ends happily.

Though it was penned by sports writers Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly, the script is better at the romance and personal stuff and the evocation of screwball comedy than it is at making us care about the developments in the game. There really isn't a lot of football played on-screen and it doesn't seem to need to be to tell this story. A final game where Dodge plays with the Bulldogs against Rutherford, now playing for Chicago, seems on the pointless side. The field is ankle deep in mud and you can't even tell who the players are.

The principals all wear their roles well. Unshaven, wrinkled, but twinkly-eyed, Clooney is as irresistible on screen as he always is in person, fun loving, good natured, and out for a lark. Renée has panache as well as feistiness this time. Krasinski, for a big guy, is much more graceful and sweet than you'd expect.

This is a trivial diversion, but George Clooney has fun with it and so can we (though it could have been a little shorter). Not everything he does has to be as important as Good Night, and Good Luck, nor all his roles as painful as the one in Syriana. A fun guy has to have some fun sometimes. And you can't call Clooney a Coen or Soderbergh clone this time.

©2008 Chris Knipp
CineScene