Okay, I’m about to say really bad things
about Christopher Reeve’s final piece of work. I feel okay about this
for two reasons. One, it’s not really Reeve’s. Two other animation
guys really made the movie after Reeve died. Two, even if they fulfilled
Reeve’s vision to the T, he was a grown man and a veteran of three
decades in the film industry. No matter what adversity he triumphed over,
he could have done much better than Everyone’s
Everyone's Hero Review
The latest generic looking CGI movie has little
Yankee Irving caught up in a plot to steal Babe Ruth’s lucky bat.
He pursues the stolen bat across the country with a talking baseball he
found at his local sandlot. The bat talks too, so they argue along their
adventure until they learn the true meaning of, uh, hmm. I guess “don’t
steal” is a good moral.
Maybe I don’t know what kids today like, but I have sympathy for the
parents. This movie is so stupid. If I were four, I’d much rather
just watch Baby Einstein on a continuous loop. At least it looks pretty.
First of all, the kid sucks at baseball in an unfunny way. He just can’t
hit. It’s not really funny to watch him miss. All around, the extent
of the humor is tired references to beans and clever double entendres like
“I’m going to pitch my lunch.” Get it? Because pitch also
could mean vomiting.
Second, the baseball complains but he doesn’t
make jokes. He says “That can’t feel good” when someone
gets hit in the crotch. Guess that’s their twist on “That’s
gotta hurt.” He says he’s being turned into a spitball when
he gets drool on him. That’s not even ironic. He’s just saying
he’s a ball with spit on it. And when he says he feels like a Danish
after getting hit by an apple, what does that mean? Apples and baseballs
make danishes? What the hell?
Third, once the bat starts talking it’s unbearable. Whoopi Goldberg
stereotypes her voice up, just in case you couldn’t already tell she’s
Fourth, when they try to go all pop culture-y, it’s totally irrelevant.
They oddly throw in references to J Edgar Hoover (being an FBI agent) and
Eleanor Roosevelt (being fat). If that’s supposed to keep the adults
entertained, thanks but no thanks.
Fifth, it’s got all the offensive music: a love song over exploring
the locker room to symbolize both the child’s love of the game and
his love of his father, the poppy action song, the sad lonely song and the
hip hop remix for the negro league scene.
Sixth, is a talking baseball even impressive today? Try a talking Xbox.
Seriously, even if a kid’s into sports, I guess everyone knows Babe
Ruth but all the other players and myths are from that era.
There are a couple minor inspirations, and perhaps those are the parts Reeve
worked on before he died. The bouncing ball complaining “My head,
my butt, my head, my butt…” is cute, and Lefty’s train
top contortions have some fun animation. That’s really reaching though.