Out of My League

A relatively quiet weekend, and I've just spent the last two hours watching Paper Lion (1968), an "amiable fiction" based on the George Plimpton book, in which Alan Alda "is not intended to be a literal depiction of the author." Clearly not; the overall effect is distinctly like watching Hawkeye Pierce try out for the Detroit Lions. It's an odd duck of a movie, a rare cinematic outing for veteran TV director Alex March. Very weird to watch the Lions (all of whom are playing themselves, along with their coaches) essentially reenact their real-life interactions with Plimpton somewhat flatly, then to switch over to a documentary style that's near NFL Films quality, lacking only John Facenda's narration. But then there's the somewhat intrusive piano jazz by Roger Kellaway, then Bobby Darin's musical director. Occasionally it works, particularly in the last half hour, as the Lions prepare for their exhibition game against St. Louis, but too often, particularly at its most Guaraldian, it seems weirdly inappropriate, at least to my ears. I can't help wondering if it might not have been better shot Dogme-style, if they'd had Dogme-style back then--an opinion I also hold about another literary adaptation from 1968, The Swimmer, where Burt Lancaster is a fine fit for John Cheever but Marvin Hamlisch is decidedly not. (That noise you hear is the rolling of the Significant Other's eyes at the prospect of hearing the "most films would be better in Dogme-style" thesis yet again.)

Yesterday, I had a chance to meet up with Terry Teachout and Our (visiting) Girl In Chicago, the co-authors of About Last Night, for a quick drink Saturday night before they went to see Sweeney Todd (which the Significant Other and I look forward to seeing in a few weeks). OGIC and I affirmed our mutual belief in Francesca Delbanco's rising star, while I nodded (I hope sagely) to much of what Terry said about the dim future legacy of Mailer and his peers and the bright future of blogging and arts criticism.