Say What

Donna spotted an e-advertisement for a documentary called Infinite Soccer. It claimed to be a "hilarious and incisive documentary about a former soccer star's dreams of radically revolutionizing his beloved sport's rules to reduce injuries."

I am interested in quirky sports fans, so she forwarded the e-mail advertisement my way.  The documentary would be playing at the Museum of Fine Arts movie auditorium. In the past, while I have not seen many movies there, the ones I have seen have been very good. Not the kind you see in a movie theatre, and engaging.

The museum is right across the street from where I work. So, today, opening day of Infinite Soccer, I went. Coincidentally, today's Boston Globe had a review of the documentary and gave it three out of four stars. And the Globe critics can be stingy with their star giving.

Except for a docent I was the only person in the theater.  She had taken my ticket, and then when the film started sat in the back row.  One hundred forty three empty seats, me, and the docent.

Let's start with this. The person who called this a "hilarious and incisive documentary" and claimed that ii is about a "soccer star's... radically revolutionizing his beloved sport" either did not see the film, or is a simpleton.

This film is not hilarious.  Got one laugh in 85 boring minutes. It is not incisive unless you have a mighty low bar for incisiveness, and it also is really not about revolutionizing soccer.  It is about the musings of a man who played soccer and got hurt when he did. Yes, he has an idea for changing the rules, but that hardly is central to the film.

The film is a hodgepodge of cheap philosophy about life with goofy, sophomoric images accompanying goofy sophomoric platitudes.  You could nutshell it and say it's about a man who has a boring job and imagines he could change the game for the better.  Yet, 60 minutes of this film has nothing to do with the game he imagines.  The movie is a series of non sequitors. We learn about how he broke his leg playing soccer, and then broke it again not playing soccer; what he does in Romania; that his father was an author; who took the picture of his wedding; who is in the wedding picture; that before 9-11 he was going to move to Florida, and other irrelevant tidbits--as if all this stuff gels in a way to make a point.

This is a god awful, pretentious documentary. I want to get a bottle of whatever the Globe reviewer was knocking back the next time I am in an awful mood.  I don't want to meet the person who wrote the advertising copy.

Do me a favor readers. Go see it. Then tell me what I am missing.

For what it is worth,  after the film the docent and I got in the elevator together. She asked me if I liked it. I said, not a whole lot. She said something along the lines of just what I was thinking: What the hell was that?