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TWO FOR THE MONEY
 By Rachel Deahl Review Film Critic The last thing the world needs is another film starring Al Pacino as a dynamic, sometimes malevolent, mostly paternal mentor molding a protégé in his own image. For that, there's already a myriad of options: "Scent of a Woman," "Devil's Advocate" "Donnie Brasco."
Though Pacino isn't quite as unbearable
as he's been in some of the aforementioned films (save "Donnie Brasco"
where the actor played it uncharacteristically under-the-top), "Two
for the Money" tries earnestly to blaze its own trail, but doesn't
quite get there.
Though it tries to delve into the
psychology of gambling, the film devolves into another cautionary tale
about the sins of greed and letting it ride. That Pacino is along for
said ride, chewing his overly long monologues about life and truth, only
makes the whole affair that much worse.
After Brandon Lang (Matthew
McConaughey) blows out his knee in one of his final college football
games, he falls into the stereotype of would-have-beensŠmostly. Moving
in with his mother and younger brother in Las Vegas, Brandon makes money
by recording messages for a 900-number service, all the while staying
focused on his goal of getting back to the pigskin. He works out
incessantly-McConaughey looks as though he could be doubling as a pro
wrestler (sans the make-up and tights) in the numerous shots showing off
his hulking, rippled chest and arms-and keeps trying out for various
teams in NFL-alternative leagues.
When Lang subs for a co-worker on the job
and makes football picks for the gambling line, he becomes something of
an underground phenomenon. He picks winners, a lot of winners. He's so
good, or lucky, that he winds up getting flown to New York and offered a
plum job with a booking agent (Pacino) who runs a posh office out of
Brooklyn.
Given a massive apartment (complete with
home gym, of course), a new sports car, beautiful women, etc, Brandon
quickly settles into the life of excessŠuntil he starts losing.
The disconnect with "Two for the
Money" is how it draws together the universality of sports gambling
with the fairly obscure world gambling hotline. The film portrays the
world of 900 sports gambling numbers as, essentially, equivalent to sex
lines. Desperate people call up, pay their money, and get to hear a
voice on the other end of the line telling them what to do.
In this case, Pacino's shady businessman
runs his scam by telecasting his business on a late night infomercial.
And, while there's no question that sports gambling is certainly big
business, the intricacies of giving betting information over toll-free
numbers for a cut of the profits seems, well, harder to grasp for the
gambling illiterate.
While "Two for the Money" is
mostly about the illogical thrill of gambling-the addict loves the rush
of not knowing what will happen more than he loves the possibility of
winning (or the winning itself)-it gets mired in a subplot about
Pacino's character trying to turn Brandon into an urbanized, slick,
greedy, sports oracle who any schlub with a passing interest in putting
some money on a game will turn to.
Grade: B
ELIZABETHTOWN
 The buzz on "Elizabethtown," Cameron Crowe's new semi-autobiographical film about a sneaker designer, who returns to Kentucky after the sudden death of his father, was decidedly negative after the director unveiled an unfinished cut to a Toronto Film Festival audience.
As the story goes, Crowe returned to the
editing room looking to chop his overly long (two plus hours) baby into
something more palatable and, presumably, better. Sadly, the last minute
cutting and pasting doesn't seem to have helped. "Elizabethtown,"
which was clearly intended to be a tour-de-force from Crowe, is a
meandering mess; it's a film without a center that ambles along in vein,
searching desperately for a story to tell and a message to impart.
That "Elizabethtown" takes an
agonizing two hours to go nowhere isn't the worst of its trespasses.
What's most painful about Crowe's latest effort is that it cheapens his
entire oeuvre.
Known for crafting saccharine, but smart, stories about all-too-familiar topics-young love ("Say Anything"), growing up ("Almost Famous") and moving on ("Jerry Maguire")-Crowe has raised the dramedy bar by offering sharp dialog, memorable characters and an expert use of music. Sure it felt a little clichéd enjoying the scene when John Cusack stood outside Ione Skye's house blasting "In Your Eyes" in "Say Anything," or when the band and band-aids sang along to "Tiny Dancer" in "Almost Famous," but it worked.
That's why "Elizabethtown," which reverts
to musical montage over and over again, feels particularly insufferable.
Crowe relies on one of his better qualities as a director to hide the
fact that he has nothing to say. It's as if, lacking strong characters,
he figured laying some Tom Petty, Bob Dylan and Elton John
on the soundtrack would make it seem as if his characters had something
to say, or do, or feel.
Here Orlando Bloom stars as Drew
Baylor, a sneaker designer who has mysteriously cost his company close
to a billion dollars after his highly anticipated shoe disappoints in
the market. That Drew manages to fail in such an obscure way (and field)
seems like it's a joke which never hits-though, admittedly, Alec
Baldwin has some of the best dialog in the film as the eccentric
genius who heads up a more equitable version of a Nike-like corporation.
Nonetheless, it's this misstep that is
supposed to launch Drew on a path of rediscovery. Having lost it all, a
la Jerry Maguire, Drew returns to his yuppified apartment, cleans it
out, and preps to kill himself. That is until he gets the call about his
dad.
In Drew's ensuing trip home, which brings
him into contact with a kooky stewardess-turned-unexpected
As the denizens of Elizabethtown celebrate the loss of their prodigal son-the unforgettable qualities which made dear ol' dad the hometown hero can be attributed to his graduating from West Point and being a "nice guy"-the film plods along waiting for Drew to embrace his loss and turn in his forced smile for a good sob.
Filled with canned shots of Bloom and
Dunst smiling longingly at each other and intermittently running
through, hotels, airports and lush cemeteries (frolicking and musical
accompaniment most often in play), "Elizabethtown" is finally
more soundtrack than film.
Crowe, who was a young music journalist before landing in Hollywood, clearly knows what "Elizabethtown" sounds like, but he has yet to figure out all the other kinds of expression essential to making a successful film. Grade: F |
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