Glory Road

Most of the time, by the time I see a movie it's been in theaters for a while. Maybe only a day or a week, but available for public consumption nevertheless. That's mainly because, unlike those who write up reviews as a career, I have to pay my own way into whichever movie I want to see. I don't have anything close to a press or VIP pass getting me into advanced screenings or premieres (not that there's many of those in Indy anyway).

When such a thing showed up in my mailbox, then, I knew I couldn't turn down the chace to see a new film a whole week before its nationwide release, much less get my impression of it out there for you before you head out to the theaters. As it happened, Heartland Film Festival (who has designated Glory Road as one of its Truly Movie Pictures.) partnered with the NCAA to show Glory Road, a new Disney release that "will do for basketball what Remember the Titans did for football." What exactly that is, I'm not so sure, though I'm assuming it's a good thing. Either way, I grabbed my pass and headed downtown to grab a seat to a free movie.

Glory Road is Titans-esque. It takes place in the sixties, it deals with racism on a sports backdrop, it's a formulaic underdog-makes-good story. And it's good at what it is. Very good.

In 1966, the Texas Western Miners were the first team to win the NCAA National Championship with an all-African American starting line-up. That's big, and judging by the feedback last night, it still is. Movie-worthy big? If it wasn't at first, writer Gregory Allen Howard, director James Gartner and producer Jerry Bruckheimer (two thirds of the team behind Titans) made sure it became one. Taking a handful of artistic liberties, Disney crafts the story of coach Don Haskins (Sweet Home Alabama's Josh Lucas) and the street-ball players he recruits and molds into a cohesive, championship whole into what will likely turn into a family classic and staple on "Best Sports Movies" lists.

The story is as saccharine as would be expected from a Disney flick. The plot can't go ten minutes without an "intense" moment, hearalded by a swell in the score and an actor's brow furrowed in seriousness. In fact, within the first half hour, we've already been treated to more than one pep talk by tough-loving Haskins. There are the requisite funny moments, too, amplified at this screening by a theater (as in stage theater, complete with balcony) without a single open seat. The large crowd laughed, on cue, when assistant coach Moe Iba (Evan Jones) loses his suit (literally) to a gang of rowdy street players he'd been sent to recruit and when player Harry Flournoy's (Mehcad Brooks) mom crashes his college partying to follow him to class and make sure he's taking his studies seriously. These predictable story elements (not the least of which is the ever-present underdog theme) coupled with a catchy, golden-oldies soundtrack add up to a glossy, fluffy picture of 1960s America.

The movie could have easily gotten pulled under by the weight of such an over-done plotline, especially if this cast of first-timers hadn't lived up to their end of the bargain; that is, had the cast sucked. I'm happy to report, however, that they don't. In fact, save more over-delivered lines than I can throw a basketball at, the actors do well with their one-liners, their player-to-player banter and even their more serious moments. Where as movies like Center Stage cast dancers they hope can act (and therefore actors we'll never hear from again), Glory Road smartly casts actors who they know can play ball. Lucas, as well, must have wanted to be a basketball coach in another life. He easily inhabits that rough, mind-only-on-the-game facade, masterfully throwing his stack of notes on the floor in disgust and keeping his team rallied when racial tensions and attacks threaten to undo them. And though it's a small role, Jon Voight (as University of Kentucky head coach Adolph Rupp) leaves the same indelible mark on the screen as Judi Dench did in Shakespeare in Love (the small role that won her an Oscar). Despite wearing a prosthetic nose (and ears as well) and adopting a sqeaky southern drawl, there's no questioning the fire in those piercing eyes and the presence of this true screen giant. Just his appearance on screen lends a credibility to this underdog of a movie that the whole cast combined couldn't do.

I have a friend who, no matter how comfortable a theater's seats are or how good the movie is, spends entire viewings watching with her elbows on her knees. Looking at her, you'd think she's watching the best movie ever made, on the edge of her seat in such a way that it's as if she can't peel herself from the screen. I, on the other hand, am not often moved to the edge of my seat nor are my elbows ever drawn to my knees. Maybe it was the stiff backs of these theater seats, but during the final game I found myself leaning into the row in front of mine. To the filmmaker's credit, that final scene is lean-enducing and, though we all know how it ends, it's well-shot and the definition of dramatic.

Glory Road is no Munich. It's no Syriana, and it's definitely no Capote. It won't be up for any awards come March (well, maybe soundtrack or something else mundane). But it isn't supposed to be a Spielberg masterpiece or George Clooney mouthpiece. It's supposed to make you feel good, supposed to remind you what can be accomplished with a little sweat and a lot of heart. And with that in mind, it does so beautifully.