Yes, Major League is Better Than Bull Durham
Or, Revoke My Hipster Card
On the most recent Upper Middlebrow, we talked about baseball movies with Jason Herbert, host, curator, and central figure of the Historians at the Movies empire (#HATM), which includes a podcast, movie nights, and other stuff here and there. I reached out to Jason on a hunch he would be into baseball films. It turns out I was right, he has an awful lot to say on the subject, and talking with him felt like hanging out with a long lost buddy.
We each picked a favorite baseball movie, and Chris and I both picked films from out of left field, in my case The Bingo Long Travelling All Stars and Motor Kings, a half forgotten gem from the 70s starring Billy Dee Williams (!!), James Earl Jones (!!!), and Richard Pryor (!!!!!!). It’s excellent, and I suspect much of the tragicomic subtext pertaining to race and class oppression was lost on many 70s (white) critics. Chris picked Fever Pitch, a rom-com with Drew Barrymore and Jimmy Fallon I’ve never seen (and Jason denigrated)
But I really like Jason’s pick, Major League. In fact, it was one of my honorable mentions, and in prepping and taping the pod, I realized something strange. I like Major League More Than Bull Durham. It feels weird to write this out loud, and I’m worried that whoever hands out hipster cards is going to revoke mine, but there it is. In the episode, Jason goes into detail about why he chooses it as his favorite baseball film: The One Liners, the Classic Underdog Plot, the Classic Love Story; all good points.
But why do I prefer Major League to Bull Durham, when Major League is a raunchy lowbrow comedy, filled with sexist jokes, and cringey stereotypes, and Bull Durham is supposed to be “the thinking man’s baseball film.”? Aren’t I a thinking man?
One explanation: I was the wrong age for Bull Durham when it came out. Bull Durham is a witty sex comedy, filled philosophical musings wedged between locker room humor. It features wry observations about how to not talk to baseball writers, when talking to baseball writers.
Crash Davis:
It's time to work on your interviews.
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh:
My interviews? What do I gotta do?
Crash Davis:
You're gonna have to learn your clichés. You're gonna have to study them, you're gonna have to know them. They're your friends. Write this down: "We gotta play it one day at a time."
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh:
Got to play... it's pretty boring.
Crash Davis:
'Course it's boring, that's the point. Write it down.
I hadn’t been around long enough to get the joke, maybe. Whereas Major League’s jokes made sense to me, and maybe that first impression has stuck with me to this day.
But I’m not so sure. Bull Durham feels proud of itself when you watch it. It’s as though the screenplay itself is winking at you, whispering “Wasn’t that a great line?”
Take the famous, and very writerly, monologue delivered by Kevin Costner’s character, Crash Davis: "I believe in the soul, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”
Don’t get me wrong, there are great moments in Bull Durham, but in the sober light of adulthood, that speech is the self-indulgent overated crap. It’s got some dirty words, and an assemblage of high culture and low, but I don’t think there’s much to it. Chris Bagg, my podcast partner and literary buddy loves lists, but I think there has to be something compelling holding the list together; some organizing principle, however subtle or obscure. This just feels like a middle-aged guy dumped a bunch of his favorite things in a jar, shook it up, dumped it over, and wrote down whichever ones tumbled out first.
I’m supposed to love Bull Durham. I love Durham, NC, the setting. I’ve been to Durham Bulls games. I’ve seen smoke come out of the bull! I’ve spent several beer soaked evenings in the Green Room, the wonderful pool hall bar, where Susan Sarandon picks up Tim Robbins AND Kevin Costner. I do appreciate that Susan Sarandon’s character was a new sort of woman character: She’s witchy, sex positive, powerful. and charming in a way that was not all that common in the 1980s. I enjoy the conference at the pitcher’s mound where the characters talk about the pitcher’s nerves, but also what they’re doing later, and what engagement gift to get a fellow player.
But Bull Durham is uneven, whereas I think Major League expertly executes everthing it sets out to. It’s a different kind of film. Bull Durham was produced by Orion, a minor major studio, known for character drams. It’s the kind of movie you might watch at the little college filmhouse that will have Tampopo the next week, and Local Hero after that. (Which is great, I love quiet character dramas!)
But Major League isn’t trying to be an arthouse film. It does seem to be borrowing a bit from Bull Durham, which came out a year earlier. Or maybe they’re “twin films”, movies that have a lot in common and come out around the same time. (I’d like to know more about why this happens. Does one studio get wind of a rival’s efforts and try to beat them to the punch? Is it just statistically random? Are the studios responding to the same focus groups or zeitgeist sensing that tells them what subject the moviegoers want that year?)
Both are centered around an aging catcher, whose dreams of Major League success seem doomed, even if he’s still a good mentor. Both are raunchy sex comedies, exploiting the once hidden world of baseball locker rooms and hotels, as revealed by Jim Bouton’s Ball Four. Both have an athletically gifted if naive pitcher (played by Tim Robbins and Charlie Sheen) who need wise guidance to realize their potential.
But Major League is actually a more old-fashioned kind of film. The plot is like something out of a Frank Capra screwball underdog tale; a bunch of misfits who come together, and slowly, cohere as a team and find common purpose. It particularly shines in moments when Jake Taylor, as played by Tom Berenger, is trying to win back his ex, Lynn Weslin, played by Rene Russo. Lynn still likes Jake, but she can’t trust that he won’t break her heart again, and he does what he can to show he’s matured, and reliable (which is mostly true).
Those scenes rely on set pieces, coincidences, and subtexts, and feel like they could have been written by one of the masters of subtext from the 1930s and 40s, like Herman Mankiewicz, Frances Goodrich, or the Epstein Brothers, who wrote Casablanca along with Howard Koch. The raunchiness was more in line with the 80s (I don’t think Gene Kelly or Jimmy Stewart would ever tell their romantic rival “suck my dick”) but David S. Ward, the writer, is a master of classic subtext, in which the emotional reality of the scene remains largely unsaid. Let’s consider my favorite scene.
Jake follows Lynn to what he thinks is her apartment, hoping for another chance to prove he’s the right man for her. But upon entering, he realizes he’s actually entered her fiance’s apartment, and to make matters worse, they’re having a cocktail party with Tom’s upper crust friends. He offers to leave, but the fiance, Tom, invites him to stay for a drink, seeing an opportunity, perhaps, to show Lynn she’s picked the right horse. Parenthesis indicate the screenplay’s actions. Brackets are my notes. Sorry about the weird formatting.
JACK (guest)
What team do you play for, Jake?
TAYLOR
The Indians.
CLAIRE
Here in Cleveland? I didn't know they still had a team.
TAYLOR
Yeh, we have uniforms and everything.
It’s really great.
[This bit establishes that Jake is out of his depth, interacting with wealthy people who don’t bother themselves with mere sports]
TOM
(handing Jake his beer)
They're last right now, but hopefully
moving up, eh, Jake?
(Tom clinks his glass with Jake's beer, the slight condescension in his manner not lost on Taylor. Lynn is uncomfortable with this whole situation. Janice moves a bit closer to Taylor. It's obvious she finds him attractive.)
JANICE
I'm told that baseball players make
very good salaries these days.
TAYLOR
That depends on how good they are, I
guess. ]
JANICE
How good are you?
TAYLOR
I make the League minimum.
(Tom and the others react as if Taylor's just announced a death in the family.)
[This shows that Jake is NOT even good at the pedestrian activity that he takes place. In other words, he’s a loser. It also reinforces that he has a kind of animal magnetism that women appreciate, that Tom and his ilk do NOT have.]
LYNN
He was one of the best in baseball
until he had problems with his knees.
[She still has feelings for Jake]
TOM
What are you going to do when your
career ends? I mean you can't play
baseball forever, can you?
[This guy is a deadbeat]
TAYLOR
Somethin'll come up.
TOM
Will it?
[See? A deadbeat]
TAYLOR
I don't know, I was thinkin' of goin' to Hawaii, and having a couple of kids who grow up to be Olympic champions.
JACK Oh really. In what event?
[Jack, the dinner guest, really doesn’t know what’s going on]
TAYLOR Swimming. Maybe the two hundred meter Individual Medley. I figure it oughta be big by then.
[Jake will not be intimidated by Tom’s needling. And, he’s not giving up, he’s still going after Lynn, despite Tom’s discouragement, and the awkwardness of the moment.]
(Jack just nods. He never heard of it.)
BRENT
You got the girl picked out?
TAYLOR
I did, but I wasn't smart enough to hold on to her.
(Lynn's eyes drop to the floor.)
[Up to this point, Jake has always made excuses to his bad behavior. Now, he confesses something to Lynn he’s never said out loud. He’s sorry for his philandering, and he knows it’s all his fault]
BRENT
You used to be an athlete, didn't you, Lynn?
LYNN
Yes.
BRENT
What did you do?
LYNN
Two Hundred Individual medley.
[And now everybody understands Jake and Lynn were once lovers, and why there seems to be tension between Tom and Jake]
TAYLOR
Alternate on the '80 Olympic Team.
(A tense silence settles on the group.)
TAYLOR
Well, I gotta be goin'. Nice to have met you all.
[Jake has laid all of his cards on the table. Everybody knows who he his, what he wants, and what his prospects are]
(Taylor exchanges a quick glance with Lynn and heads for the door.)
TOM
Let me walk you out.
(Tom accompanies Taylor to the door, out of earshot of the others.)
TAYLOR Thanks for the beer.
TOM Don't mention it.
TAYLOR I'll let you know if I land a good job. I know you're concerned about it.
[I see what you’re up to]
TOM
Yeh, well, I just wanted Lynn to know what she would've had ahead of her.
[Again, you’re a deadbeat]
Tom sticks out his hand. The two men shake to keep up
appearances for their onlookers across the room.
TOM
Stay away from her.
TAYLOR
(smiling)
Suck my dick.
[And finally, in the last moment, the subtext is surfaced, like Moby Dick breaching in sight of the Pequod]
It should be noted that Jake is wearing an 80s sportcoat and faded jeans, and drinking a beer, while all the wealthy people in Tom’s apartment are wearing suits or cocktail dresses, drinking wine, and listening to Mozart. Mozart! It’s ridiculous, lawyers and accountants didn’t hang out in suits and listen to Mozart in 1989, if they ever did (Perhaps, if they were particularly starchy folks, they’d be wearing Oxford shirts, and listening to Keith Jarrett and Dave Brubeck, but my money is on polo shirts and Eric Clapton and Sting’s solo albums). But that doesn’t matter. Movies exxagerate in order to bring the audience an emotional reality. In this case, we’re meant to understand that Jake doesn’t belong, but he’s game enough to make nice, and fence with Tom, for the sake of Lynn. We see Leo DiCaprio doing the same thing in Titanic a decade later, when he dines with the wealthy set and makes a go of immitating their manors.
I count at least four different axes of emotional tension all balanced delicately by David S. Ward’s writing and directing, and the brilliant performances of all the actors, especially Rene Russo, who has very few lines, but has to convey her tumultous feelings silently.
There is the romantic subtext, in which Jake apologizes and Lynn admits (without meaning to) she still likes him.
There’s the rivalry between Jake and Tom, in which Tom does his best to show that Jake is a deadbeat, and Jake endures it and doesn’t lose his cool.
There is the class subtext (common in baseball movies) in which Jake endures the pitiying contempt of the feathered elite.
And, there is a hero’s journey. Jake could get angry, he could back down and admit he’s not much of a catch, he could leave at the first opportunity. This is the moment of deepest despair, when his goal seems most out of reach, and his weaknesses and failures are laid bare for all to see. The night is darkest in the yuppie’s loft. But Jake endures the quest. He chooses to stay, as if to say to Lynn “I’m right here. I am who I am. It’s not perfect, but I’m a more mature person now, and I’m not going anywhere.” This impresses Lynn, and we see her recognizing a well of emotion she had previously walled off.
Later in the film, Jake has his big heroic moment at the climax, but after that, we learn that Lynn has already called of the engagement. And we can sense, it was Jake’s bumbling, awkward, uncomfortable moment in Tom’s apartment, in which he finally passes Lynn’s test, and she decides he’s changed enough to be her man.
My point here, and I said it in the podcast: Major League isn’t trying to be smart. It is smart. And it’s smart in the way veteran Hollywood hacks are smart. There’s nothing self-referential, meta, or hipster about it. The movie knows its craft. The climax, a come-from-behind nailbiter, is clever, inverting expectations, in that way that when it happens, it surprises you, but also completely makes sense. In other words, perfect filmmaking.
So yeah, I’m sticking with it. Major League is the better movie. Onto the next question: Which is the best Kevin Costner baseball movie? That’s a thought for another time. Which reminds me, Crash Davis was right about one thing, the Designated Hitter should be illegal.