I'm the wrong person to be extolling the virtues of "Eephus," directed and co-written by Carson Lund, which I strongly suspect is one of the great baseball movies. I don't just mean one of the great baseball movies of this decade or this era, but one of the great baseball movies, period. The trouble is that I don't have much of an appreciation for the sport, and no nostalgia for it whatsoever, and "Eephus" is often about nostalgia.
A ballfield in Massachusetts is about to be demolished to make way for the building of a new school. Thus, the local recreational team, Adler's Paint, faces the end of the line. The team spends one last day there, playing an eventful game against their rivals, the Riverdogs. From the beginning, the game is a dodgy affair. Adler's Paint almost has to forfeit because a player is late. Balls are lost, players leave early, and everyone grumbles over aches and pains and all the compromises they need to make to keep the game going. Nearly all the players are middle-aged men, some noticeably out of shape. The spectators include politely disinterested family members, snide passersby, and one ancient recordkeeper. As the game drags on, and the sun goes down, there seems to be no reason for any of them to be there, except their dogged determination to finish the game.
"Eephus" is very much a vibes movie. There's not much of a plot, except for watching the game play out and listening in on people's conversations. The characters all have names, but it's difficult to keep track of them, and I didn't recognize any of the actors. Apparently the documentarian Frederick Wiseman contributed some voiceover work. But no matter - the players are a ragtag collection of guys who are endlessly fascinating to observe. No introductions are made, and we have to operate off of a lot of incidental information - this this one is married, that one is studying to be an engineer, and the pitcher specializes in the "eephus," a rare pitch that seems to slow down as it approaches the plate, causing the batter to misjudge its timing. The film has chapter markers, each noting the time of day and offering a quote from one of the baseball greats, like Yogi Berra and Babe Ruth. A radio in the dugout plays a recording of a far more exciting professional game from decades ago.
I like the way that "Eephus" presents a picture of male camaraderie through a mosaic of small interactions - some ambivalent, some contentious, some with a fair amount of invective, but none of the disagreements leading anywhere serious. There are complaints, encouragements, commiserations, invitations, and remembrances. Their treatment of the game is unsentimental. Throughout the day we hear repeated claims that one player or another shouldn't even be there that day, or should have left hours ago, or that the whole game is an exercise in futility. However, without ever stating why or how, it's clear that the game does mean a great deal to many of the players. They hunt down the lost balls, figure out substitutions as they lose players, and even engineer a nifty way to keep playing in the dark. They perform the rituals of the game as best they can, from the national anthem, to the sharing of beers.
There's something instantly evocative about the way "Eephus" looks, its images of the schlubby players in their red or blue uniforms somehow a very comfortable and familiar sight. Everything about the cinematography runs contrary to the glorified images of baseball heroes, shots lingering on everyone looking tired, or bored, or exasperated. However, there's also a wonderful patience to the film, letting us soak in the inviting New England small town atmosphere. The passage of time is captured beautifully as daylight fades, and in the night sequences the lighting becomes more inventive and dramatic. I love the way that fireworks are used in one of the final scenes.
In short, you don't have to like or know anything about baseball to enjoy "Eephus," though I'm sure it helps. You do, however, have to be able to empathize and sympathize with the men who love baseball, beyond all hope of glory, to the bittersweet end.
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