Back when I was in high school in the late 1970s, a nearby city school district decided -- for reasons I probably knew at the time but have since forgotten -- to combine the sports teams from five schools into just two. The result was essentially the equivalent of dual all-star teams, and they usually cleaned up when it came to playing football, basketball and the like against singular schools like mine.
I'm guessing the school system, their students, and players, and their neighborhood supporters enjoyed reaping the benefits of those consolidations of talent. Yet, not all such combinations are greeted with open scholastic and athletic department arms. Take, for instance, the Tigers of Norway High School in Iowa. Back in the early '90s, with their student population fairly low, they were merged with a school from another district in order to keep operating costs in line.
Like many a small town in heartland America with not much else going on, the school's sports teams were a big deal and source of community pride. That was especially true for the baseball team that, despite being fielded from a surprisingly small number of potential players, won a plethora of state titles.
Their last season story is now told in "The Final Season," an earnest but clichéd, predictable, and ultimately bungled sports flick. While it has the right heartfelt intentions, and I'm sure some less discerning viewers will buy into it hook, line and sinker, the film ends up being a chore through which one must sit, and that stems from various problems in front of and behind the camera.
There isn't anything present that we haven't seen in countless sports flicks over the years, and most every cliché and convention of the genre is trotted out (save for the coach walking out and finding the most promising athlete out practicing at night by themselves). While that wasn't entirely unexpected, the sluggish way in which director David M. Evans assembles all of it ensures that any potential hits (few home runs are possible with such pics anymore) always land foul.
The general rule of thumb for storytelling is to start any given scene or sequence as far into it as possible, get the required stuff done, and then move on. Unfortunately, Evans -- who works from a script by Art D'Alessandro and James Grayford -- not only starts most every moment from the beginning, but also drags on all of them to the breaking point.
It's almost as if the director isn't sure when to move on and/or feels the need to make sure all viewers get the point or mood he's trying to establish. Whatever the case, viewers will likely wish they could call strikes and thus bring a new batter up to the plate.
One might think such seventh inning (and then some) stretches are utilized to pad out the film to its nearly two-hour runtime. To an obvious degree, that's true, but the scribes clearly have enough material (be that fiction or non-fiction based) to fill the film and then some.
Beyond the school is closing plotline, there's a new sheriff, um, coach in town, and that involves Sean Astin's newbie character replacing the venerable and recently booted out one played with far too much profound gravity by Powers Booth. Fitted with dialogue that makes James Earl Gray's bombastic and grandiose speeches about the importance of baseball in "Field of Dreams" seem like understated subtlety in comparison, Booth chews up the dugout, locker room and most every other locale with glee.
Of course, such speech isn't entirely out of place, what with all of the other stilted dialogue that flows from characters' mouths like balls from a pitching machine. The new coach bit obviously involves clashes with spoiled players and doubting-Thomas locals, but the conflict doesn't end with that.
There's the conflict between the townsfolk and the school board (represented by Marshall Bell who's so conniving he'd being swirling his long, villainous mustache if he had one), as well as between a rebel-without-a-cause student (Michael Angarano) and most everyone else, including his dad (Tom Arnold), wise old grandfather (James Gammon) and a fellow student/teammate (Brett Claywell).
Naturally, Mitch is a closet baseball star and thus finds redemption through the sport. Throw in a reporter on the beat (Larry Miller, often chided about his baldness), and a romance between the coach and a state official who finally sees the light (Rachel Leigh Cook), and the film would seem to be bursting at the seams with more than enough story elements.
Yet, unlike the aforementioned all-star teams of my high school past, they don't create collective greatness, and none of the many bits is good enough to stand on their own, let alone help the film win. And with the director dragging on every scene (from heartland footage to training montages to even the closing scene showing trophy after trophy after trophy that the school won over all of those years), you'll wish this "Final Season" was called due to rain, or, more accurately, poor filmmaking. The pic rates as a 3.5 out of 10.
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