Sunday, June 27, 2010

Game 6 aka Michael Keaton Never Shuts Up

Aww, a post in the wee hours of 1:30, it's like the good ol' days, eh? Anyway, I didn't watch Let The Right One In today because I actually (gasp) went out but and socialized. Been doing that a lot lately. "But Sugary Cynic, a life outside the blog? 'Tis not possible!"

Oh but it 'tis! 'Tis indeed. Also, Jacob here is your picture of you as Mr. Furious and me as The Bowler from Mystery Men. They're costumes are stupid and so they look like Matrix rejects and also I am tired as hell but it was a CRAPPY paint picture I promised so I don't feel all that bad about it :D

Bask in it's shittiness! BASK IN IT.

Now, reviewing Game 6.

First, he read the news, but now he must become it! (not really)

Anyway, Game 6, made in 2005, takes place in 1986, which I kept forgetting because everyone looked and acted like it was in present day except there were no cell phones and the TVs are all cruddy. So yeah, 1986, on the day/night of game 6 of the World Series, Red Sox vs. Mets when it looked like the Red Sox were finally going to clear themselves a long and storied history of absolutely sucking (spoiler alert, they don't. Duh. They don't until whatever year the American version of Fever Pitch came out in). So the movie focuses on Nicky Rogan (Michael Keaton) a playwright and former cabbie who is always in cabs, trying to connect with the cabbies, sharing stories about weeing under bridges and just sort of drifting through his life. He is estranged-ish from his daughter, in a divorce-mess with his wife, having an affair with his producer, obsessed and yet also filled with loathing over the many heartbreaks caused by his beloved Sox and also stalked by the spectral bad review his new play is going to get because his lead actor has a brain parasite that is making him forget his lines (like an actual parasite).

So yeah, Nicky's got a lot on his plate. But his main concern is not the play, but the Sox game, the one that might change everything. Nicky treats the game like it has a connection to his life, that if they win everything that was ever fucked up for him will be magically solved. Is this a typical sports fan thing? I dunno, not a big sports person, someone needs to fill me in. Anyway, we follow Nicky through New York on this fateful, as he bounces from conversation to conversation with his father, daughter, wife, random old lady cabbie who is a font of folksy wisdom, a fellow playwright a bit off his nut and so on. It's a movie about writer written by a novelist and so it is dialogue-tastic. I personally love it, the conversations are fantastic, artful even. And Keaton just has this way of acting that makes it seem like he's literally just thinking of everything he's saying. It flows like real talk which is a rarity. But it's not for everyone, my brother for instance, would be shaking the TV 15 minutes in screaming "FOR GOD'S SAKE, JUST GET UP AND DO SOMETHING!!" if he ever tried to watch it.

So Nicky is haunted by this possible bad review everyone seems sure he'll get from this harsh, possibly evil but certainly oddball theater critic who goes to plays armed and in disguise because every writer in New York wants to beat his ass (Robert Downey Jr being a wonderfully weird dude who lives in an empty warehouse like a deranged shaolin monk). Eventually, when the sox inevitably lose, something snaps inside Nicky, the world isn't fair, life isn't fair and god dammit, sometimes critics need a bullet in the ass, so he tries to hunt down the critic with interesting results. The issue most people have with the movie is that the tone is kind of uneven, ricocheting between an almost surreal tragedy and a bittersweet but light-hearted comedy. It does make up it's mind by the end but it's a bit too sweet (I still liked it) for some people. Basically, it's a quirky little movie for people who like New York, cabbies and absolutely wonderful dialogue, and don't mind a bit of cheese on the side. Three catapults out of five.

And now goodnight. I mean it, go away.

"When the Mets lose, they just lose. It's a flat feeling; there's nothing there. Now the Red Sox, now, here, we have a rich history of really fascinating ways to lose a crucial game. You know what I mean? Defeats that just keep you awake at night. They pound in your head like the hammer of fate. Yeah, you can analyze a Red Sox game day and night for a month and still uncover really complex layers of feelings. Feelings you didn't even know you were capable of having. Yeah. That kind of pain has a memory all of its own" -Nicky Rogan (Michael Keaton)


  1. I don't mean to sound unappreciative or anything, especially after basking in the craptastic goodness of that drawing, but you got it backwards. I'm supposed to be the Baby Bowler; you're supposed to be Mr Furious. Go ahead. Check what I wrote.

    It's alright, though. I won't make you do it again. But next time...!

    Good review, btw. Sounds like my cup of noodles. I'll have to check it out.

  2. You wouldn't happen to have a clip of Robert Downey Jr. being weird-shit right before his big Iron Man 2 comeback? I live and breath on once-famous actors muddling about in obscure flicks.

    And I'm basking, alright? No need to yell.

  3. Jacob: I'm sorry dude, as is probably obvious, I was kinda not with it last night (to put it mildly). Next time it will be awesome, you have this comment as proof

    Simon: The Singing Detective. It's hard to find but worth it for it's absolute bizarreness and also RDJ sings and Mel Gibson is a balding doctor

  4. I like the fact that you're totally unphased by my suggestion of cross-gender roles. But I'm just messin' with ya. The picture is awesome! And you win Most Awesome Person I Know award for keeping up with whatever weirdness and spontaneity I can throw at you. You fucking Rock!


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