Field Of Dreams

If anybody actually read these reviews, I'd probably be in a shit load of trouble. But, as it stands, the four of you reading (and I mean R.M., K.C., S.P. and G.T.) will probably not mind what I'm about to write because you're not Americans (even if one of you seems quite partial to NYC).

I admit I was vaguely ashamed of not having seen this film, but I've finally watched it today.

"You're guests in my corn."
More like: "You're guests in this corny field."

This movie is probably super-touching if a you're an American male with daddy issues, because let's face it: only Americans care about baseball, the most boring game (yes, game: not sport) after cricket. Only Americans like playing catch, a pass-time which is nothing more than throwing a ball back and forth for hours on end. In the States,
this is called bonding. Only in the States can bonding mean a mindless task done without talking about anything meaningful.
If you're a man and don't do that with your son, you're a bad father. If you're an American male and your father didn't play catch with you, you're scarred for life.

I mean, come on: we're talking about an activity (yes, activity: not game) where they spell everything phonetically. Kinda like Turks, now that I think about it. For example, 'Socks' becomes 'Sox.' And to make sure it's spelled correctly, one team is just called the A's. I bet you some folks in, let's say Iowa, manage to mispell that.

So, this film is about baseball and playing catch with your dad. Or it's about a schizo dude who's hearing voices.
Sure, they throw in some scandalous book and author at some point because, let's face it, in 1989 that's the only way guys would convince their girlfriends/wives to go see this film...
What am I talking about? In 1989, they didn't know how to read in the States (as opposed to now. Haha. I love the smell of sarcasm in the evening). I should know, I was there then.
And, come on: talking about Stalin, Eva Braun, Citizen Kane? That was for the critics, because surely even now, who knows who these people are?!

Anyway... So: Mann is the black Salinger. That's cool. In fact Mr Jones is the best character in this film, at least at first.

Of course, when you see Burt, you gotta go: "Shiiiii." That was an actor. When he's on screen, you gotta pay attention, you go quiet, you have to be respectful. Get on your knees if you can.
If someone out there thinks I'm talking about Burt Reynolds instead of Mr Lancaster, kill yourself now.

I won't mention the boring and predictable conflict that was put in just because every story needs one: "We gonna lose the farm!" You think they gonna? Really? The suspense is killing me!

In the end, this feels like whatever might get conceived from the splooge-cocktail of a Mitch Albom & Frank Capra wet dream.

I've read that some people complained, because Shoeless-Joe was a left-handed player, not a right-handed one. Get a life.

In any case, if you want to complain: how could the 1919 World Series be mentioned so often without so much as a reference to Rothstein?? Oh, dear, I seem to have
uncovered my own area of geekiness... Whereas some like baseballs and bats, I like bullets and, well... baseball bats, but not used in the same way.

Anyhoo, don't get me wrong, it's a cute film, about nostalgia and the longing for better times, for when all was good. Too bad it's about baseball, though... Then again, it's about a time when players weren't overweight slobs chewing tobacco and fighting all the time. It was about the love of the game.

Oh, shit, I'm waxing lyrical.

So: end words: it's way overrated. Watchable, but overrated.
Watchable, but not necessary to lead a fulfilling life.

And am I the only guy who's jealous of Frank Whaley? It's crazy the people he's acted with and for! (Jones, Costner, and Liotta, sure; but also: Nicholson, Travolta, Tarantino, DeVito, Spacey, Stone, Del Toro, Connelly, Ryan...)