A pair of whacked-out cartoon-like exterminator/hitmen kill the owner of a burglar-alarm company, and stalk the partner who hired them, his wife, and a nerd framed for the murder, who tells the story in flashback from the electric chair.
1926. The Chinese Civil War. Drifter Ted Beaubien is captured and forced to witness his girlfriend's execution. He finally escapes and vows to avenge her death by taking on a deadly mission... See full summary »
A drifter with no name finds a Jeep with the skeleton of a postman and a bag of mail and dons the postman's uniform and bag of mail as he begins a quest to inspire hope to the survivors living in the post apocalyptic America.
Detroit Tigers Veteran Pitcher Billy Chapel (Costner) has always been better at baseball than at love. Just ask Jane (Preston), his on-and-off girlfriend. After a bad season, just before he is about to start in what could be his final game, Jane tells Billy that she's leaving him...for good. Now with his career and love-life in balance, Billy battles against his emotional and physical limits as he strives for a Perfect Game. The suspense is never drawn back in this heartwarming drama about life, love, and risking it all For Love of the Game. Written by
The baseball gloves used by the actors were broken in by the NYU baseball team. See more »
During the third inning when Billy throws three pitches, all of which are preceded by the announcer saying 'Strike Three,' the same player's picture can be seen on the screen in deep right center field in the background. See more »
[Billy Chapel is warming up in the bullpen before the game]
Well, since you're throwing bullets, I'm not even gonna mention the fact that you're an hour late, and I have been standing here trying to figure out who my starting pitcher would be if you didn't show up.
Have I ever not showed? In the 19 years, have I ever not showed?
Well, that's true of everyone until the first time they don't show.
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Even If You Hate Baseball -- and Kevin Costner -- This Movie Still Rocks!
Why do I love this movie so much? I'm not a baseball fan. I didn't really like FIELD OF DREAMS. And I hated BULL DURHAM. Yet this movie just captivates me every time I watch it.
Part of it is the tight, real-time structure -- the whole movie takes place in a man's head while he pitches a perfect baseball game on the mound. It therefore combines the tension of a thriller with the poignant emotions of an elegy.
But what I loved most about this movie is that there are no clichés. Kevin Costner's character, Billy Chapel, is not a "sports underdog." It's very clear he is a great athlete who has had a great career, and that he can walk away at any time with lots of money and lots of respect. The only reason that pitching the perfect game matters to him is purely for the perfection of his art -- for the love of the game.
At the same time, not all the action is on the baseball diamond. In the romantic drama, Kevin Costner does much more than play the usual Costner "nice guy." Billy Chapel can be cold, egocentric, and difficult -- just like any other creative artist. But he always surrounds himself with people who are strong enough to challenge him and help him stay grounded. It's no exaggeration to say that the supporting cast in this film -- John C. Reilly as the catcher, Kelly Preston as the girl friend, and Jena Malone as the girl friend's adorable teenage daughter -- are very much the stars. They really set Costner up for an unusually mature, disciplined performance. Just the way Chapel's team mates set him up for the perfect game! This movie wasn't that well received by the critics. I remember one frightfully cultured fellow at the NEW YORKER sniffing that Costner's character is "arrogant." Note well that if an artist or an intellectual is cold and demanding, it's okay. But athletes should be jolly, ape like simpletons, the kind who know their place. This complex, poignant movie is actually quite subversive, since it forces you to realize that baseball is a thinking man's game and that athletes (and their working class fans) are not nearly as stupid as the real simpletons who write for the NEW YORKER.
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