Review #16 - Game 6 (2005)

From our friends at Netflix:

"Lengendary scribe Don DeLillo wrote this fascinating film about a New York playwright, Nicky Rogan (Michael Keaton), who's immersed in failure. Unable to ride the coattails of success no matter how hard he tries, Nicky distracts himself from his endless career woes by obsessing about those of others -- namely, the perpetual underdogs of baseball, the Boston Red Sox. But Nicky can't sit out the game of life forever. Michael Hoffman directs."

So, when you read that little synopsis, what do you think? I'll tell you what you think. You think, "Man, what a lame snoozer waste of cash." Bear with me, chickens.

First of all, this movie is set in 1986. Michael Keaton (g*d, I love him, don't you?) is a Red Sox fan. Ya'll recall the 1986 World Series? I don't follow baseball, and even I know what happened in Game 6. So this is our backdrop.

RDJR plays theater critic Steven Schwimmer, the bane of the existence of every theatrical schmoe within 100 miles of NYC. He's a total freakazoid hermit-type who lacerates everyone within reach of his pen, and he's about to go see Nicky's newest play. Nicky spends his day dreading the review and anticipating the upcoming Sox game...work in his down-and-out buddy, daughter, estranged wife, lots of taxi cabs....

I won't spoil it for you, because you should rent this one. I loved it. Loved it loved it. Don't let Netflix fool you. This is a really, really funny film, if you are into quirky weird movies. Which, as you certainly know by now, I pretty much am.

It occurs to me that I, your humble correspondent, AM Steven Schwimmer. Reviewer extraordinaire - cloaked in anonymity. RDJR most certainly hasn't heard of this blog (yet), but I would imagine that, at seemingly random times of day, a few keys are stroked in a land far, far away - and a dark shadow passes over his artist soul and gives him a little shudder. My, my, he thinks. Whatever could it be? Perhaps he brushes it off, with a small shake of his head and self-deprecating tip of the chin. Or...perhaps....like the beating of a heart buried under a floorboard...it tasks him....

Or not.

This one is an 8.