Quindecim

Issue date: 10/13/04 Section: Arts and Entertainment

I know almost nothing about the sport of tennis, save that it is not an activitiy that has made a great deal of appearances in modern film. In fact, this makes it rather precious: an unmined commodity in a Hollywood so starved for any vaguely fresh material that directors ravenously clamber in search of blood, gore, violence and perversion, under the pretense that the only way to stir audiences from a tedium-induced malaise is through shock and repulsion.

As long as there are still cinematic opportunities such as the one available to the makers of Wimbledon, to present a culture that is both common and rarefied and which most of the target audience will have never before seen depicted in film, those aforementioned squalor-mongers will be wrong.

But the argument that there is still room for ingenuity in the modern crowd-pleaser loses ground and volume every time that potential is wasted in an offering as lifeless, bland, and empty as this one.

Peter Colt (Paul Bettany) was formerly one of the best tennis players on the planet. Now in his early thirties, he has plummetted to the rank of 119th worldwide and is planning to quit professional tennis for good after competing in his last Wimbledon tournament, for which he has conveniently won a wild-card slot.

On the eve of his first match, he meets rising American star Lizzie Bradbury (Kirsten Dunst, wearing the same tired eyes that always seem to dog her in uninspired roles). Lizzie inspires Peter to play better tennis than he has in years, upsetting the tournament, despite the constant efforts of her father (Sam Neill) to preserve his daughter's focus by keeping the couple apart.

Wimbledon starts out full of vague clichés, but with lots of directions in which to stretch; it does not.

As the story undertakes what could kindly be called progression and what I would call sinking into a shallow pit, it only hews closer and closer to the routines we all know by heart. The approaching climax brings not rising suspense but dull resignment as the possibilities dim for the film to surprise us with something imaginative.

Characters that initially showed promise as potentially layered and interesting are directed in their actions by the plot, not by any shade of their personality.

There is, I believe, one banality of which the film willfully steers clear. Usually, when depicting the final triumph of the underdog in a grand competition of some sort against opposition, who rightfully should be able to squash our hero like a bug, movies will bypass most of the struggle and cut straight to the final round against the one opponent who truly matters. There may be a peppy montage of some sort, with a parade of losers in shock at their unexpected defeat, but we are generally asked to take it on faith that the protagonist was able to vanquish enough foes so as to appear in the finals.

Director Richard Loncraine has apparently despised this convention for his entire life, and is now enacting his revenge. For Wimbledon will show you every match, every opponent, and what feels like every point on Peter's path to victory.

What is more, every single thing that happens will be afforded no less than the ultimate level of suspense, giving the viewer the feeling that if Peter should botch this serve or miss this shot or blink one too many times, not only will he lose the game, but the event will be cancelled, the sport will be outlawed and all the puppies in England will be drowned. Why yes, since you asked, this constant emphasis on the immense drama of each moment does indeed get even more tedious when you do not know much about the game and do not have the slightest idea what is going on. The most satisfying aspect of Wimbledon (which, keep in mind, is not saying much) is some mildly creative cinematography at the tournament, which is more innovative than the film deserves (again, not saying much). With the help of computer imaging, the shot maniacally zooms inward and outward with all the elasticity of a tennis ball, which was probably the idea. It is a pity that these momentary spurts of effort work to such little purpose, for as the lens flew back from the courts into the upper regions of the atmosphere, my most fervent wish was that, as the shot returned to Earth, it would alight upon just about any other story happening anywhere on the planet other than Peter's and Lizzie's.

I still think it is an easy gamble that no other people could have been less entertaining to watch.

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