A swing and a whiff

Mr. 3000 (2004)
Buena Vista Pictures presents a Charles Stone III film, starring Bernie Mac. Written by Eric Champnella, Keith Mitchell and Howard Gould. 104m. PG-13 for sexual content and language.

1.5 stars

I always laughed at the idea of a person like Robert McKee, who could make a living by holding intensive three-day seminars that taught budding screenwriters the elements of a good story.

I used to laugh because I thought someone like McKee was inevitably teaching them to be homogeneous in their characters, linear constructions and tidy endings. Now I laugh because I look at a film like “Mr. 3000,” and wonder if I don’t have the qualifications myself to put together something formulaic. I haven’t attended any seminars, except the impromptu seminar of “terrible films I happen to see in late summer/early fall.”

“Mr. 3000” is trading stock in two markets. It’s obviously cognizant of the public’s new found adoration of the notoriously self-centered Barry Bonds, who is currently chasing baseball immortality by launching homeruns daily into McCovey Cove. The film is also essentially “Major League” with an African-American cast; it borrows so heavily I’m surprised the producers of the earlier film haven’t sought an injunction.

The hitch of the film is this: Stan Ross (Bernie Mac) announces his retirement on the day he slaps his 3,000th hit, which he figures certifies his immortality by placing him in the Baseball Hall of Fame. I guess he’s never heard of Pete Rose.

After he’s just four votes shy of reaching entry, the Hall of Fame’s oversight committee announces that Ross was unfairly credited twice for a May game made up in September due to a curfew ordinance. Thus, the man who has staked his reputation - including a strip mall of themed stores - on his 3,000 hits must return to collect the three necessary hits and re-retire. The problem? It’s now nine years since his last game, and the 47-year-old Ross can barely manage a “girl push-up.”

In a gesture of mutual self-exploitation, Ross returns to the Milwaukee Brewers, who are experiencing slumping attendance and a dwindling returns in the race for last place. His persona brings the new energy - and new crowds - to Miller Park, much to the delight of a delightfully slimy general manager (Chris Noth).

Perhaps more than any other sport, baseball has changed remarkably in the last nine years - undergoing a shift in divisions, the addition of a wild card spot, expansion, an alleged “juiced ball,” the BALCO investigation, and the threat of contraction. So Ross not only returns to a team that switched from the American League to the National, but also experiences a new training regimen which includes non-traditional forms, like Pilates.

The story’s forward linear movement would be quite droll if Ross only quietly collected his three hits and then left the team. Instead, Ross manages to inspire the team’s best player (Brian J. White), whose brazen arrogance is a reflection of the hitman’s own persona.

In one of the more mind-boggling turn of events, Ross also reignites a romance with ESPN correspondent Maureen Simmons (Angela Bassett). Here the screenwriters try and cut a corner, but audiences won’t buy it. They’ve played Ross as frustratingly single-minded individual, but then expect him to drop the idiosyncrasy when it fits the storyline. The result is a half-baked romance with no real chemistry. Instead, two characters play through the trials and tribulations of past histories, infidelities and bruised ego like automatons.

Ross’ life is so pitiful, one can actually pinpoint the moment in which he hits rock bottom. But, as Chunk Palahniuk once wrote, “It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.” For Ross, that’s the painful moment when he offers to pay for sex and then is taunted by a man dressed in a giant hot dog uniform.

Unsurprisingly, Ross’ reverse course of altruism starts paying off at the plate until, of course, the screenwriters see fit to return him to his natural self-absorbed state. Then, with the game on the line and one bat at left, Ross steps to the plate to reach the 3,000 hit milestone. Think of the aging Jake Taylor’s final at-bat in “Major League” and I’m certain you’ll be able to ascertain before attending this movie what will ultimately happen.

This flip-flopping of the movie’s anti-hero will leave audiences cold. While the idea of playing a brazen sportsman for laughs had potential - a sort of “Cobb” in reverse - it’s execution is dead on arrival. Bernie Mac is better served as a role player if he’s to be pigeonholed in this straight-shooting, “my way or the highway” archetype.