GO, DVD, GO: GOAL! The Dream Begins

GO, DVD, GO: GOAL! The Dream Begins

Before I start tearing this movie a new one, let me get something out of the way: I wanted to like it. I mean, I really wanted to. Let’s face it, it’s not like we have a surplus of decent soccer (yes, they call it soccer here in the States) films out there. You have your comedic martial arts romps like the enjoyable Shaolin Soccer, your artsy European melodramas that, in the end, might have little to do with the sport itself (Wim Wenders’ The Goalkeeper's Fear of the Penalty Kick comes to mind), your documentaries (the best offerings come from this lot) and, well, Escape To Victory (known as Victory in the US). The latter film is widely regarded as the crowning achievement in the sub-genre, if by “crowning achievement” you actually mean “Sylvester Stallone plays the goalkeeper and, somehow, the film doesn’t suck ass”.

Yes, it’s a desolate field out there. That’s why I decided to comment on a recent rental, a film that I couldn’t catch during its Robben-like sprint through cineplexes across the country (it really was a “blink and you missed it” run in Florida). The hype surrounding this project actually made me giddier than usual, at least when it comes to sport-related films. Adidas was prominently involved. So was FIFA, and they would allow for the use of real teams and real players. I even heard some prominent A-list football talent was going to be featured in cameos. And it was a trilogy! Huzzah for trilogies! I started entertaining visions of a magnificent, Lord of the Rings-like cinematic achievement, one that pleased both hardcore fans and critics alike, on the way to an assload of Academy Awards and Golden Globes. This was gonna be sweet.

Then I remembered the Rambo films were also a trilogy.

And then I watched GOAL! The Dream Begins.

And then I felt kinda like the guy who has pictured the loss of his virginity as a torrid threesome with Halle Berry and Scarlett Johansson, under the starlit gaze of a balmy caribbean evening in a palatial beach-side residence on loan from Richard Branson, knowing that after thoroughly drilling the aforementioned women in every imaginable orifice he would also be treated with a sumptuous dinner prepared by the french cuisine dude in the Japanese version of Iron Chef.

In reality, the loss of said virginity usually involves a clumsy, rushed episode in a dank basement, with 3 minutes of frantic, condom-clad, missionary-style pumping followed by a half-assed handjob, courtesy of the local über-skank who smells of menthol cigarettes and chews gum during the whole ordeal. The post-coital snack might be a gas station hot dog that you keep burping for the rest of the night, a sad remainder of something that could (and should) have been highly enjoyable, but probably was just a bit nauseating.

With sex, things get better eventually. But there’s no excuse for soccer movies. If you’re making a new film, you’ve presumably seen what’s out there already (again, not much). You know that sports movies in general are plagued with predictability and endless clichés. You know that good, even great sports movies can be done (baseball and boxing are just two sports that showcase plenty of classics). And yet, with all those ingredients, pointers and blueprints... you blow it.

Not that I think GOAL! is a bad film. It’s just... forgettable. And that might be the reason why it’s so hard to let it go with an underhanded compliment and wishes for a better outing in the next installment. Coming back to the “loss of virginity” analogy: the director came to Mr. Branson’s house, found Halle and Scarlett already warming each other up and... what’s that smell? Could it be Iron Chef Sakai pan-searing some foie gras for later? Can’t miss this one, right?

Yes, you can. Director Danny Cannon just went into the bathroom, jerked himself off to the “intimates” section of an old JCPenney catalog and made a run for the nearest 7-Eleven to nuke a couple of frozen burritos. Hey, some people out there will call it a pretty good night (wouldn’t want to be them, mind you). But, come on! Everything was in place! So what went wrong?

My first guess is that they wanted to please American audiences. But also English audiences. And Mexican audiences. And Spanish audiences. And the French. Possibly the German and Dutch as well. And let’s not forget about Asian, African and South Americans either. The film has the feel of a bunch of different nationalities and idiosyncrasies coming together for something grand, but leaving as an amalgamated mess with no discernible qualities. Maybe they tried to indicate that stories like Santiago’s (Kuno Becker) happen everyday, everywhere. Or maybe it was just bad writing. In any case, I found that the stereotypical characters and situations were just the tip of the iceberg about what went wrong.

ATTENTION: STOP READING RIGHT AWAY IF YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE JERKS WHO THINK THAT REVEALING CRUCIAL PLOT POINTS ABOUT THIS FILM IS ACTUALLY GOING TO BE THE FACTOR THAT RUINS IT, DISREGARDING THE FACT THAT WOODEN ACTING AND CLICHÉD SCENES ARE THE OBVIOUS CULPRITS.

You decided to go ahead... Good for you. Here’s the quasi-scientific breakdown of GOAL! THE DREAM BEGINS...

WHAT SPORT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT HERE? Football. The whole “in America we know it as soccer” argument is crap, because “America” is, in fact, a rather large continent, not an isolated country. So football (and not soccer) it is. Moving on...
WHAT’S THE PLOT? The rags-to-riches story of Santiago Munez (Kuno Becker), a Mexican immigrant who rises from his small team in Los Angeles to a starting spot with Newcastle United of the English Premier League. All in a month or so.
ANY HOT STUFF? Anna Friel is kinda nice to look at, but there’s no real nudity worth checking out. Even a supposed “sex party” between two players and 4 skanks turns out lame. I’ve seen raunchier orgies in Mentos ads. Oh, and skip the first “behind the scenes” feature on the DVD Extras: Friel appears without makeup and looks like one of those scary women who end up eaten by their house cats after falling in their bathtub.
IS THE ACTUAL SPORTY STUFF ANY GOOD? It relies mainly on extreme closeups of Santiago’s frantic footwork, but it’s overdone to the point he looks like Cristiano Ronaldo on amphetamines. His posture is also wrong. And he lets himself get swept from all angles as if he’s never seen a malicious tackle in his life (something amateur leagues are ripe with). Alessandro Nivola, who plays bratty superstar Gavin Harris (wasn’t that a singer in a boy band?) fares a little better, but the problem here is, again, the director. The broadcast camera angle is the format that fans of football are most familiar with, right? It also provides the wide angle that’s needed to determine the right spot in the pitch where the action is taking place, right? Well, director Andy Cannon thinks this angle is for pussies. Would it have killed him to do a couple of those overused but still nifty “bullet-time spinning close ups” that The Matrix made famous? Those would have been cool to see. And they’re not even that expensive.
HOW REALISTIC IS THE WHOLE THING? The training sessions are dealt with in a couple of quick scenes and montages, and they weren’t bad at all. The emergence from the tunnel as both teams take the pitch is also well done. But honestly, that’s about it. Santiago’s arc from unwanted prospect to key starter is so contrived and forced upon you’ll want to slap some sense into the scriptwriters who came up with some of this shit.
THERE WAS SOME STUPID STUFF, RIGHT? Oh, yes! I loved this particular sequence of events: Santiago suffers from asthma, a fact he hides from the hottie nurse (Friel) who just took his urine sample. Who, I presume, she then sent to the lab. Who, in turn, should have mentioned that Santiago’s pee tested positive for asthma medicine (a common method of illegal performance enhancement that has to do with expanded pulmonary capacity, or some crap). But we only know that the club founds out about this illness much later, when Santiago’s poor performance during a test match is finally and painstakingly tied up to him not having used the inhaler beforehand. Now, he couldn’t use the inhaler because the tough-guy-who’s-really-not-such-a-bad-guy-after-all-but-it’s-out-there-to-teach-newbies-a-lesson-in-toughness stepped on it prior to a match (for shits and giggles, really). You see where we’re going here? Every little dumb plot seems to be there to serve the purpose of throwing our hero into another tired obstacle that comes out of the Big Book of Sport Film Clichés. Also, from the pages of said book:

The cold-hearted dad that sabotages his son’s dream all the way through, only to come to his senses right at the moment the film needs him to shout: “That’s my son!”
A shout of “That’s my son!”
The good natured kid who befriends our hero when no one else gives him the time of day, but who suffers a career ending injury that teaches our hero how good he’s had it so far.
The former star player who left the game after some sort of tragedy, and is now the only person that believes in our hero’s brilliant future, thus living vicariously through the success of his new protegé.
The hot chick (a nurse!) who loudly boasts that she doesn’t date players, but starts dating our hero right away, despite him not being particularly bright/charismatic/successful/well hung.
The star player who is throwing it all away by associating with dodgy types, and has to be shown the error of his ways by the plucky newcomer. They end up living together. I’m not even going to make a marriage analogy here, but you get the point.
The seemingly innocent night about town that deteriorates in debauchery, with the possible threat of suspension hanging in the air from the get-go.
The hot girlfriend of the superstar who might have feelings for the newcomer, but hides them behind a façade of disillusionment and overall boredom.
The hard-to-read disciplinarian in charge of the team, who might be a major asshole, or maybe just trying to get our hero to learn on his own, or foreign, or a clever combination of all those factors, (a Miyagi, if you will).
The top-notch agent who won’t bother with checking out our hero’s skills when he’s just starting, but desperately wants to get him to sign once he shows he can cut it with the big boys.
The extremely random cameos by some star athletes. We get to see Shearer (Yay!) and Kluivert (Boo!) at Newcastle, and Santiago has a close up encounter in a private party with Real Madrid’s Raúl (¡Olé!), and former galácticos Zidane (Ouch!) and Beckham (Who?). Becks, in particular, delivers his lines in such a wooden way you half expect a squirrel to come running up his side and start storing nuts inside his ear. On the other hand, Zizou could totally cut it as a villain in a Bond movie. That guy is a mean looking bastard if I’ve ever seen one. Mr. Posh should be really looking forward to acting lessons once he settles in his new domicile...
The “jogging on the beach” montage! Santiago even dresses up like Rocky for this one.
The moment of self doubt where our hero sits in the departing gate at the airport, with only two choices in front of him: going back home as a failure, or stop being a whiny bitch and try to make it one more time. I wonder what he’ll choose? Oh, the suspense!
The two “suddenly available” characters that are perfect for each other and magically seem to come together just by being associated with our hero (I’m talking about the scout/mentor and the hot nurse’s still-surprisingly-hot mom).
Too many others to list here...

SO, SHOULD I SKIP IT? Watching this one on theaters would have been a major disappointment, but on DVD it’s one of those barely passable train wrecks that at least keep you involved by letting you point out all the dumb stuff and laugh out loud in the process. Interestingly, if you’re a real fan of football and film, you might catch a dozen or so moments when the script could have turned the movie into an instant classic. Yes, there are some sequences that become derailed only at the last moment, and they can be maddening, but still fun to point out. The ending is pure crap, mind you. Still, watch it in hope of the two planned sequels being better. I think GOAL! 2 is all about playing in the Champions League and being transferred to (where else?) Real Madrid, and GOAL! 3 must be about... erm... World Cup stuff?
WHAT KIND OF PORN FLICK WILL I ENJOY IF I LIKED THIS FILM? Debbie Does Dallas. All the key plot points about making it big elsewhere and making your dreams come true are there, along with the team mentality being important to achieve the final goal. And both have extended shower and locker room scenes, but they’re better in the porn flick.
WHAT’S THE FINAL GRADE? C-Minus out of 5 stars.

Mr. Bad Example (asempere@mac.com)

April 2, 2007 11:14 PM

INTERNATIONAL CAPTION: “Kiss me, you hot immigrant slice of man-cake, you!”

MEXICAN CAPTION: “Beso a Chori... ¡Muá!”