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Sports movies fall into two large categories these days. On one side, Hollywood sees sport as a test of men's mettle, of whether they have the courage, character, and fortitude to survive. If so (as in Any Given Sunday, For Love of the Game, and many others), they are true heroes and deserve our undying admiration. The other type trolls the river of spirituality, seeing sports as yet another way to become one with the universe or lay hold of the divine (within). The classic example of this is Field of Dreams, which has reduced many middle-aged men I know to tears, but you could also include Chariots of Fire and even A River Runs Through It.

Resting comfortably in the latter category is Robert Redford's new movie Legend of Bagger Vance. It tells the story of Rannulph Junuh (Matt Damon) who, despite having a name that sounds like a mumble, was one of the finest golfers in the south. 'Was' being the operative word, as Junuh volunteered to fight during World War I and was so scarred by the experience that he refused to come back to his hometown of Savannah for ten years. 

While he was away, his gorgeous socialite girlfriend Adele (Charlize Theron) assuaged her grief by building a world-class golf resort. Unfortunately, on its opening day, the Great Depression hit, and her dream turned to bankruptcy. But Adele isn't just a pretty girl with long legs and fabulous cheekbones; no, she's got some gumption in her, and she comes up with a plan. She'll use her feminine wiles to convince the two finest golfers of the day, Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen, to play an exhibition match at her course. The city fathers agree but only on the condition that one of Savannah's own also participate. Which would, of course, be Junuh, but he hasn't played the game in ten years. Enter our titular hero, Bagger Vance (Will Smith), a scruffy man in a stylish hat who literally walks out of the darkness and offers to caddy for Junuh. Being the embodiment of the mystical black man (think John Coffee in The Green Mile, though without all the coughing), Vance somehow inspires Junuh to pick up the clubs again.

All of this is told through the eyes of a ten-year-old boy named Hardy Greaves (J. Michael Moncrief making his film debut). Hardy is actually a senior citizen when we first meet him--on a golf course where he's just suffered a heart attack. But staring death in the eyes is merely an excuse for Hardy to tell us why he loves this game of golf. You see, he followed Vance and Junuh around on that fateful exhibition. 

If the set-up seems somewhat contrived, it is, and unfortunately the golf match isn't any less so. With 72 holes over two days, there's plenty of time for Junuh to lose his swing, find it, lose it again, and find it once more. Offering New Age aphorisms as advice, Bagger Vance makes for a cryptic guide, but Junuh and Hardy soak it all in. And when Bagger has finally made his point, on the 68th hole, he leaves like Mary Poppins ("my work here is done") and vanishes to that mysterious place from whence he came, leaving Hardy to caddy the final four holes. 

Nonetheless, there's plenty to like about Bagger Vance. Matt Damon (Talented Mr. Ripley) is fantastic as a golfer battling his personal demons, and his scenes with Theron (Cider House Rules) are genuinely romantic in that old-fashioned Hollywood way. Theron acquits herself very nicely. With this movie, The Yards, and last year's Cider House Rules, she's shown herself to be much more than just a pretty face. Her emotional scenes have weight, and she has a nice sense of timing, both comic and otherwise. Besides, there isn't an actress today who so embodies that Grace Kelly-like sense of glamour which, as far as I'm concerned, can be reason enough to spend two hours in a darkened theater.

Will Smith (Men in Black) doesn't have a lot to do but act wise and spout gibberish, and he spends most of his time looking bewildered as if he can't believe there isn't an alien to blow up. As is so often the case, Morgan Freeman would've been perfect for this role. On the other hand, Bruce McGill (The Insider) and Joel Gretsch (debut role) give nicely understated performances as Hagen and Jones, respectively. 

Robert Redford (Horse Whisperer) continues to shine as my dad's favorite director. Rich textures, evocative lighting, solid acting, a simple story, no swearing, sex, or violence--that's all my dad needs to be happy. He won't notice that there are some strange weather discontinuities, that Rachel Portman's score is strictly by-the-numbers, or that the story is a big pile of mush.

That last point is probably what will divide audiences. Do you mind that Vance continually spouts phrases like "one true, authentic swing, something we were born with" or "there's a perfect shot out there, and we have to let it choose us"? Or how about when Hardy breathlessly intones, "suddenly in that moment I could hear the earth breathe beneath me"?

Now in a smarter movie, we'd recognize this last line as the fantasy of a man who is hugging the ground while he's having a heart attack, but apparently Redford believes we should accept the earth-breathing thing at face value. And this is the crux of Bagger Vance--it asks its audience to whole-heartedly believe that the cryptic sayings of a stranger could straighten out a golf swing, that a heavenly choir literally starts singing after a perfect golf shot, and that, as Hardy murmurs at the beginning of the film, there's "a little bit of magic" on a golf course. Now having once been entranced by the game of sticks, I can honestly say that there is something charmed about the sport; but I would never ascribe it to the good side of the Force, if you know what I mean.

Those who embraced Field of Dreams, however, will probably flock to this one, and the hard-core golfer might find it a thrill to see Robert Jones and Walter Hagen recreated with such care and devotion. The rest of us, though, will have to take delight in watching Damon and Theron fall in love. Think of it this way--it's both cheaper and shorter than a round of golf.

By J. Robert Parks 11/2/2000