Any Given Sunday

Bomb Rating: 

Did anyone else see Oliver Stone on Celebrity Jeopardy and then have to spend the next two hours trying to figure out how to get that little voice inside your head from screaming "freak, freak, freak" like a fire alarm?

Oliver displays the same sort of Jeopardy characteristics in his new football film, a 170-minute behemoth for which the viewer should be allowed to purchase some kind of general anesthetic in the lobby in order to survive. I don't know if Oliver is going through detox or what, but ever since "Natural Born Killers," he's moved the camera around like an epileptic in an earthquake. This works if it's first person and the character is trying to dodge the swinging axe of some maniac, but it's quite a bit less effective filming a football scene. Oliver, did you ever consider that we'd like to actually see what's going on, you paranoid baboon?

Stone has about as much intellectual in him as Jim Varney's Ernest. His idea of illuminating the generation gap between the old, wizened Coach D'Amato (Al Pacino) and his rookie quarterback, Willie Beaman (Jamie Foxx), is to have the coach offer to make a tape for Beaman. Beaman responds, "CDs, man. CDs" and you're supposed to think, "Oh my God, they don't speak the same language. They're from different eras. HOW WILL THEY EVER GET ALONG?"

Amidst slow-motion scenes of Al Pacino screaming and long, interminable sequences of parties, you're also supposed to wonder whether Willie's obnoxious behavior will tear the team apart and whether the owner (Cameron Diaz) will fire Coach Spittle or not. It's all about as intellectually stimulating as watching Regis and Kathie Lee. Of course, don't tell Stone that. Much of the score includes Native American music, indicating that Stone has probably gotten so full of himself that he can no longer wipe his own ass without weeping over the loss of another small part of his inner being.

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