‘Moneyball’ about more than money, baseball

If you're worried that "Moneyball" might be too "inside baseball" for you, it will be -- if you've never played the game.

The game of life, that is.

Once again, baseball proves an ideal metaphor, ruefully reflecting the pressures of these going-gets-tough times.

Make no mistake, the "Moneyball" players, on and off the field, aren't losing their homes to foreclosure or desperately scrambling to keep food on the table.

Yet the same bottom-line pressures that have engulfed our entire society have remade the national pastime, for better and worse.

And it's all Billy Beane's fault.

That's an exaggeration, of course, but not much of one -- and "Moneyball" explains how, and why, the general manager of the 2002 Oakland A's (with a little help from an Ivy League economics whiz) revolutionized the grand old game by choosing players based on computer-crunched statistics rather than traditional scouting reports.

If "Moneyball" were just about that, however, it wouldn't be nearly as fascinating -- or fun -- to watch.

Much like last year's "The Social Network," this year's "Moneyball" focuses on a kind of revenge-of-the-nerds revolt -- except that Beane, a former big league ballplayer (who in this case looks exactly like Brad Pitt) hardly fits the nerd stereotype. Unlike his faithful computer-savvy companion, Peter Brand (who in this case looks exactly like roly-poly Jonah Hill).

Still, the "Social Network" connection hardly seems accidental; "Moneyball" has some of the same producers, one of the same screenwriters ("Social Network" Oscar winner Aaron Sorkin, who's credited alongside "Schindler's List" Oscar winner Steven Zaillian ) and similar source material: a nonfiction book about a game-changing concept (Michael Lewis' "Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game").

Unlike "Social Network," however, "Moneyball" boasts a highly likable protagonist, one whose team made the 2001 playoffs, failed to advance -- and wound up serving as an "organ donor" for wealthier teams able to afford the team's stars, departing via free agency.

As Beane explains the situation to the team's cash-strapped owner: "There are rich teams, and there are poor teams. Then there's 50 feet of crap -- and then there's us."

On a road trip to wheel and deal with his Cleveland Indians counterpart, however, Beane encounters the bookish Peter Brand (a fictionalized character inspired by the real-life Paul DePodesta ), whose stat-crunching theories convince Beane he can replace his vanished all-stars with undervalued, under-the-radar players. (Reminds me of the time the Angels let Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan sign with the Houston Astros in 1979 -- because, as general manager Buzzie Bavasi said at the time, they could replace their strikeout king, and his 16-14 record, with two 8-7 pitchers.)

To a man, Beane's clubhouse colleagues react with horror and even outright hostility to his shatter-the-rules approach, from his old-school head scout (ex-minor league pitcher Ken Medlock) to manager Art Howe (a pricelessly surly Philip Seymour Hoffman).

Some of the players aren't too sure about the plan either, not even aging slugger David Justice (appropriately haughty Stephen Bishop) and ex-catcher Scott Hatteberg ("Parks and Recreation's" wide-eyed Chris Pratt), whom Beane moves to first base because he can't throw anymore. (Hatteberg can't play first base, either, but as long as he gets on base, Beane doesn't much care.)

But except for his daughter Casey (an endearing Kerris Dorsey), Beane doesn't much care what anybody thinks -- not even when the A's catch fire and the whole crackpot scheme seems to be working.

Never fear, movie fans. "Moneyball" is no "Field of Dreams" or "The Natural," no thrill-of-the-grass, stand-up-and-cheer heartwarmer celebrating the impossible triumph of the underdog.

It's too smart for that. Besides, we know what happened. The A's won the division but never made it out of the first-round playoffs -- and rich teams started adopting the same approach, proving that Moneyball works even better when you have a pile of money to spend.

No, "Moneyball" turns out to be one of those (all too rare) movies that does multiple things very, very well. In baseball terms, it's a five-tool movie: It can hit (thanks to the snappy Sorkin/Zaillian script), it can run (thanks to director Bennett Miller's crisp yet relaxed pacing), it can throw (with Pitt and Hill as an unlikely, but highly effective, comedy duo, tossing off deadpan one-liners with impeccable double-play timing).

And it can hit for power. Maybe not with instant, rocket-shot impact, but with the kind of pure line-drive force that's so true it will stay with you for days.

For that, several players on the team deserve credit -- several of whom weren't originally part of the "Moneyball" roster. Director Miller (who previously directed Hoffman to a best actor Oscar in "Capote") replaced Steven Soderbergh, and Hill replaced Demetri Martin -- after the studio pulled the plug on Soderbergh's version.

If you had to choose a Most Valuable Player, however, it would be Pitt, who's also one of the movie's producers and stuck with the project through numerous setbacks, fielding what turns out to be a most winning team.

And, not surprisingly, Pitt himself turns out to be the most winning aspect of the "Moneyball" team, capturing Beane's breezy it's-only-a-game exterior -- and the inner turmoil of a die-hard competitor who's determined to leave his mark on baseball. Since he didn't get it done on the diamond, he's got to score his runs from the front office. That is, until he figures out that it's not about scoring runs at all, after all.

That's a process every player in the game of life goes through -- and it's why "Moneyball" is about so much more than money, or baseball.

But if you still think it's not your kind of movie, consider this: I've been a die-hard Angels fan since 1966, which makes the Oakland A's hated rivals. And yet I still rooted for the A's while watching "Moneyball."

Besides, I remember who won the 2002 World Series: the Angels. And now that the movie's over, I can go back to hating the A's. But, curse the luck, I'll never be able to hate them as much as I did before.

Contact movie critic Carol Cling at ccling@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0272.