Monday night at The Kabuki Theater is dead. Nobody's around. The cinema is deserted, which is somehow appropriate for this lackluster effort by Clint Eastwood.
He's had a less than impressive couple of weeks, what with making a joke of his speech at the Republican conference, where he addressed part of his rambling talk at an empty chair on the stage, imagining Barack Obama was sat there.
In this film, he plays an aging baseball scout who's losing his eyesight. His daughter comes along with him to keep him company and watch out for him as he's scouting a young batter with great hopes of making it in the big league.
It's a cutesy little story, but comes across like an episode of The Waltons, with the all the drama that evokes. It's certainly not a patch on the last baseball movie we saw, Moneyball.
Heaven knows I wouldn't mind sitting around watching baseball for a job when I'm pushing eighty-something, but I'd like to be doing more than just complaining all the time and being just - you know - an eighty-something year old.
It was the same with Gran Torino - Eastwood huffs and puffs his way around, grunting rather than talking to anyone. But at least there was a plot. Alright, every step was telegraphed, just like in The Curve. But at least something happened occasionally.
Out friends didn't make it to the movie - some school thing going on. You may say I'm stretching things a bit, but I'd almost rather have been there with them.
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