[This is my entry in Simply_Crispy's "Expunged From Their CV" Write/Off". Each reviewer picks a film that features an actor currently on the A-list, from a time in their career when just getting a job was a step in the right direction (or, alternatively, an actor who was once on the A-list, but will now take any job for the desperately needed paycheque; I didn't go down this path, but you'd have figured that out eventually). As the title of the write/off suggests, said actor might be so embarrassed by their participation in the film that they'd likely want to "expunge" it from their "CV". Anyway, I'm not completely sure if the film I've chosen is appropriate based on these criteria. The actors I'm focusing on were never near the official A-list, although they'll always be on my own personal A-list. And the film, despite being a hokey bit of hokum from Hokesville, is still quite an effective tearjerker that they should be proud of. Still, there are other reasons why they wouldn't want it seen. More on that later. Herewith the review…]

I'm sick and tired of "Rocky"-wannabe sports movies (okay, I'm not; I eat these movies up with a spoon). You've got your "Best of Times", your "Major Leagues", and your "Hoosiers", each offering only a mild variation on the theme (again, not true; I can watch "Major League" any day of the week, and "Hoosiers" still gives me goosebumps -- more on these later). I'm no longer a football fan, and just don't get the whole Notre Dame mystique (this part is true). And, quite frankly, I find Sean Astin a detrimental screen presence (except for "The Goonies", of course).

"Rudy", a Superstation stalwart, is a much-watch for me whenever it comes on the tube. The story of Daniel 'Rudy' Ruettiger, an undersized and underbrained son of a diehard Notre Dame fan, whose only goal in life is to suit up for the Fighting Irish football team, it never ceases to get under the skin of this curmudgeon cinephile. But why? Well, the schizophrenia of my first paragraph should offer some clues. "Rudy" is a movie, so expertly done, that I love in spite of myself.

Take, for example, its main themes. "Having dreams is what makes life tolerable," says Rudy's doomed friend, Pete, over a birthday cupcake. Normally this kind of treacle would trigger my gag reflex, but Pete is such an innocent and sympathetic character, I find myself resisting the urge to applaud. Never mind the fact that in about 5 minutes Pete bites the dust in an accident at the steel mill, giving impetus for Rudy to start his life anew. The film then tries to force down our throats the notion that perseverance, no matter what obstacles it faces, will always win out. So we get not one, not two, but four scenes of Rudy checking his mail, hoping against hope that the letter he receives from Notre Dame is not another rejection, but the acceptance notification he's been waiting his whole life for. And when you realize that this sequence serves as a microcosm for the other obstacles in the kid's life (his bad grades, his small stature, his dyslexia, his poverty, etc.) it's almost enough to turn your stomach. Well, when he gets that last letter, and finds his way to an outside bench, and it's a lovely autumn day, and the sun is setting just so, and the camera is swirling around him, and the score is building and surging… hold on a sec, I need a tissue. Damn you, "Rudy"! Stop tugging on my heartstrings!

Then, you get some bits about men being men. It seems like Rudy's life is full of well-meaning father-figures, hell-bent (pun intended) on quashing his dreams: A narrow-minded priest who won't let him on the bus taking "serious" students to tour Notre Dame's campus; his dad, who says, "Chasing a stupid dream causes you and everyone around you heartache"; and his battle-hardened football coach (Chelcie Ross, who was the ace pitcher in "Major League" just four years before!) who just can't see why letting Rudy into the big game is a good idea. But he's also got some father-figures on his side: Father Cavanaugh (Robert Prosky, as warm and friendly and wise as ever) bends over backwards for him; a head groundskeeper named -- get this -- Fortune (a wonderful Charles S. Dutton) who from the word go subtly shows the soft underbelly beneath his gruff exterior; and a series of gargantuan linebackers, who see Rudy not as the cuddly mascot that his size would dictate, but as a true inspiration. The film lets you see its hokum through the eyes of these cynical men, who each, in turn, break down during the curtain call-esque scene at the climactic football game. "This is the most beautiful sight these eyes have ever seen", says Pop (Ned Beatty), upon entering the football stadium, in a moment that's as much about grand spectacle as it is about a father finally understanding his son. Ned Beatty manages to portray Mr. Ruettiger as a lovable, worship-worthy patriarch, even through his unsupportive mistakes.

Not all of the men in Rudy's life are rough-and-ready. A teacher's assistant at Holy Cross Junior College -- where Rudy spends his freshman and sophomore years, trying to get grades worthy of Notre Dame -- takes a shine to him, and offers tutoring help. This grad student, named -- get this, part II -- D-Bop, only asks that in return Rudy use his considerable charisma to introduce him to girls. D-Bop provides much of the film's comic relief; sadly, despite some key scenes and a mid-film montage, D-Bop gets too little time on screen.

Here's as good a time as any to fulfill the requirements of the write/off. Jon Favreau plays D-Bop with vivacity and wit. You might remember Favs from his acting in the indie-classic "Swingers" (which he also wrote) or its quasi-sequel "Made" (which he also wrote and directed). Here Favreau looks much like Robert De Niro did (as Jake LaMotta) in "Raging Bull". Only he's not the lean and mean LaMotta, but the infamous, "I could have been a contenda" era LaMotta, with the 60 extra pound packed on. My gosh, Favreau is huge! Later, in "Swingers" (and, ironically, in his role in the "Rocky Marciano" TV movie), Favreau slims down. But if someone had captured me on celluloid, looking like D-Bop does, I'd sure want it expunged from my CV.

In a neat little two-for-one, Favreau's "Swingers"/"Made" cohort, Vince Vaughn, also has a bit part in "Rudy" (in fact, it was on this set that these two A-list talents -- A-list in my eyes, if not in yours -- first met). Vaughn plays Jamie O'Hara, a scholarship tailback whose on-field promise was destroyed by his lack of heart. The role is more of a device than a character, as Jamie is called into the story briefly to provide one last roadblock, and a mirror image, for Rudy to hurdle. Vince is saddled with only a couple of thankless lines, such as "[Rudy's] just a showboat, man. That's all he's about", which later, not surprisingly, becomes, "C'mon, let's get a score for Rudy!" He and Astin even share an awkward, uncomfortable moment on the sidelines, that should, along with his curly-top hairdo, have Vaughn running to his lawyers, in an effort to get "Rudy" expunged from his CV.

(Note: indie-A-lister Lili Taylor has some effective early scenes as Rudy's girlfriend, but I decided not to include here, lest I ruin the perfect Favreau/Vaughn dyad.)

Back to the review proper.

Director David Anspaugh learned his lessons well after the success of "Hoosiers". He brings the same small, Midwestern sensibilities to the settings and the characters of his latest "Rockey"-fied opus. These two films are probably the most successful overcoming-all-odds sports movies, because Anspaugh knows how to rush right up to the line where sincerity become manipulation, but he never crosses over it (it helps that his "Hoosiers" scribe, Angelo Pizzo, does the same duty again here). The cinematography, by Oliver Wood, is workmanlike but effective. Witness the gorgeous autumn he manages to capture on campus, full of lush golds and reds and oranges. Jerry Goldsmith, whose had a long and sometimes classy career ("Chinatown"! "LA Confidential"! "Alien" and "Aliens"!), provides a score that could not be more simple. He's written but one main theme, which he twists and turns and pushes and pulls, like it was super-resilient toffee, to fit the mood of an innumerable number of scenes. Over here it is bright and joyous, over there it is dour and melancholy. And then it is hopeful. And then it is poignant. Finally, it is uplifting, soaring, screaming, in such a way that the manipulation (the original sin of musical score) could not be felt.

But when all is said and done, this is really Sean Astin's show. His Rudy is a remarkable little fellow, undaunted by any task put before him, but armed with the knowledge that his intelligence and physical stature are more than likely going to stop him from going where he wants to go. Yet Astin is a marvel at showing the kid's determination. It follows him throughout every moment of the narrative: from young Rudy, in his room listening to a recording of a famous Knute Rockne speech (not Astin, true, but his spirit is there), to his time on the Joliet Catholic High School football team -- I always get chills the first time he appears, with his poor-man's eye of the tiger, at his last senior practice -- to his time at the town's steel mill, and on and on as he marches towards his goal. Astin's performance is so tight, it nearly wipes "Encino Man" from my memory (now there's a film that should be expunged from the CV of everyone involved… 'cept maybe Pauly Shore's).

It's that telescopic narrative, ultimately, that makes "Rudy" such a tear-inducing movie. It focuses in on smaller and smaller terrain, while building ever more insurmountable obstacles, until Rudy's final delightful moment. This prolonged sense of emotional tension, followed by an overwhelming experience (for both the protagonist and the audience), produces a catharsis like nothing else I've experienced in film. Now, I've been watching movies for most of my 27 years. But this is the only film that ever caused me to shed tears (I have a friend who claims that I sobbed through "Philadelphia", but she's terribly mistaken; I had something in my eye, is all). My most recent viewing was probably my dozenth, and the ocular river still flows as strong as ever. When little #45 finally gets to run on the field, I'll bet your eyes don't stay dry either.

[Check out the reviews of the other participants: arjita, artbyjude, BigJack, brodieman, d_fienberg, jankp, lemon_lime, Lynus, Macresarf1, mfunk75 (hey, that's me!), MrsNormanMaine, Simply_Crispy (a round of applause for our first-time host, if you please), skbreese, susidee34, tjmackey, Vormancian, Weirdo_87, and xxxxer]

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS