A film almost satisfyingly
filled with small amusements, Leatherheads gets its biggest laugh out of the way early
on. Playing a war hero turned college-football star, John Krasinski scores an
impressive touchdown to the approval of cheering crowds and the accompaniment
of "Hold That Tiger." This, we're told, is what college football was like in
1925. For a look at the pros, we cut to a shot of a muddy field and a perplexed
cow watching men struggle for possession of the ball for little glory and even
less money. Led by aging captain George Clooney, the Duluth Bulldogs are in it
for the love of the game. Well, that and it beats working in the mines, and
provides a steadier paycheck than weekend wrestling gigs.
If amiability equaled
greatness, Leatherheads would be destined to become a classic. A long-in-the-works
comedy about the early days of professional football, it attempts to capture
the moment when rowdy, approachable amateurism gave way to big money and the
cold precision of skilled pros. Instead, it mostly captures the comic whims of
everyone involved before remembering it has a plot and a raucous finale to squeeze
in before the credits roll.
Working from a script
first floated by Duncan Brantley and Sports Illustrated reporter Rick Reilly in
1991, Clooney shows a real knack for period detail and the rhythms of old
screwball comedies. The subtlest jokes come from the clash between the past and
the present—shots of a smoking waterboy and well-covered cheerleaders—but
the sexual tension between Clooney and Renée Zellweger, as a tart,
strong-willed Chicago Tribune reporter investigating discrepancies in
Krasinski's heroic past, provide the best moments. He's all baseless
self-confidence; she's an able, sarcastic foil. Together, they get all the
motions right.
But too much of Leatherheads feels like studied
motions, and its charms never plaster over a story that takes forever to get
going, and doesn't go too far once it does. The scenes paying homage to Frank Capra,
Howard Hawks, and the Keystone Kops look like they were fun to shoot and are generally
fun to watch, but after a while, they start to feel like a cover act for
someone else's greatest hits. Still, Leatherheads is never less than
pleasant, and a moment in the middle suggests that the director might do even
better in the future. Catching up at a speakeasy, Clooney invites Zellweger to
dance. Then, as the music plays, he simply holds her gaze until it becomes
obvious that dancing and other entanglements will follow. It's such a sweet,
effortlessly seductive moment that it's positively Clooney-esque.