The Gospel According to Prisco

Damn that George Clooney.  He’s just such a charming motherfucker, isn’t he?  And now, he goes and directs a movie that’s not half-bad.  It’s not offensive enough to the senses to rail against it, but I really don’t think anyone needs to dash out to the theatres and watch it.  It’ll be a wonderfully successful DVD rental, and that’s about it.  And that’s about all it deserves.  I mean, director-wise, he’s done better: Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.  And actorwise, he’s certainly done better.  I won’t even count his Oscar nominated stuff. 

I like Renee Zellweger.  I’m sorry.  I know she’s gotten whomped on for her scrunch-face and her diva attitude.  But she was great in Empire Records, she was very good in Chicago, she was marvelous in Cold Mountain, and by god, she’s fantastic here.  I’m sure there are any number of actresses who would have done better with the part, but she’s terrific as the plucky smartmouthed reporter.  It’s no Jennifer Jason Leigh in The Hudsucker Proxy, but she’s very fun to watch.  And John Krasinski.  Hmm.  He was alright, because he’s a nice guy, but I just don’t think he’s got enough chutzpah to be sharing lead status with these two.  I really want to see him take a Ryan Reynolds route, sort of jibber jabber along in the supporting fields and then jump into the lead stuff.  But hell, he’s still good. 

That’s kind of the metaphor for this movie.  It’s alright.  The plot’s not that intriguing, and it felt weirdly long.  There’s not much football action, it’s more screwball comedy than anything else.  But if you want something to watch with the folks one quiet weekend, go for it.