Old-timey football flick a fighter

“Leatherheads” is a screwball, slapstick, semi-romantic, period-piece, football movie. But… “Leatherheads” is a screwball, slapstick, semi-romantic, period-piece, football movie. But don’t let that niche factor scare you off – what is any great screwball comedy about, really, other than dames, cigarettes and witty repartee?

Leatherheads Starring George Clooney, John Krasinki, Renee Zellweger Directed by George Clooney Universal Studios

out of

The movie is a madcap love letter, a tribute not only to the classic banter-oriented comedies of yesteryear, but also to the antiquated make-believe world of the 1920s it imagines. It’s a world where the fellas get decked but never bleed, the dames have moxie, and when a brawl breaks out in the juice joint, the pianist keeps on playing. Director George Clooney clearly has a fondness for this era of knuckleheads and speakeasies, and it shows in his adherence to the screwball style of comedies pioneered in the 1930s. The antics of his team of ragamuffin pro footballers reject any notions of smug modern superiority to the classic tradition.

The team is the Duluth Bulldogs, desperately trying to stay afloat at a time when professional football is a sinking enterprise. Slick-talking captain Dodge Connelly (Clooney) refuses to let his team go under and recruits an upstart college player, Carter “The Bullet” Rutherford (John Krasinski), to draw in fans. The plan works, but he’s followed by more than his admirers: Tailing him is reporter Lexie Littleton (Renee Zellweger), hoping to out Rutherford as a phony war hero.

Littleton may be spitfire, but she’s far from compelling – she’s nothing but a dame born from the same mold that’s been producing spunky lady reporters since “His Girl Friday.” Gentlemen really must prefer blondes, though, because soon Dodge and The Bullet – ugh – are competing for her affections on and off the field.

Take the contrivance as a sign – by no means is this movie a new spin on an old genre. The story isn’t post-modern. It isn’t any kind of modern. Instead, it completely embraces the tried-and-true formula – meet-cutes, mistaken identities and all the other familiar tropes are here without so much as a wink at the camera. It plays out like a ’30s comedy Mad-Libs page, simply filling in the blanks as it goes along, content with its own stylistic conformity.

While the script deserves a certain respect for so tactfully emulating the comedies to which it owes its existence, the cast can’t disguise its own modernity. Clooney and company so closely follow in the footsteps of past icons like Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart that the entire concept develops an almost meta element – they play only themselves, albeit filling someone else’s long-empty shoes.

The mugging for the camera, the banter, the slapstick – they’re mostly entertaining but sometimes make it hard for the audience to have as much fun as the actors are having. George Clooney walks a fine line playing loveable scamps like Dodge Connelly and Danny Ocean, and while he’s mastered the art of the smirk, too often his silver tongue and sly smile tread on the side of self-indulgence.

“Leatherheads” is still a commendable effort, a movie that tries something different, if not something original. It calls all the old plays, and most of them score, but it’s too pleased with itself to be exciting or memorable. Instead, it can be filed away as a near-success, an experiment in recreating the spirit of a classic era that misses the touchdown by mere inches.