The Legend of Bagger Vance

Burnished to within an inch of its achingly pure soul, “The Legend of Bagger Vance” is stately, sanctimonious, pleasing to look at, and ultimately a bore. A pretty picture with no substance, it takes the best-selling novel by Steven Pressfield and turns it into a pious ode to the spirituality of golf, or at least caddying. Robert Redford directs, which is why the picture seems to shine with an inner glow, but also why it seems oddly static and anemic. Redford as a director (“Ordinary People,” “Quiz Show” “The Horse Whisperer”) seems fatally averse to anything that might antagonize, excite, or frighten his audience. He does have a good eye (aided here by Michael Ballhaus’s superb cinematography) but he lacks a sense of compelling narrative. (He also has a proclivity for casting younger versions of himself in his pictures. Think Brad Pitt in “A River Runs Through It,” and Matt Damon--not to mention Joel Gretsch--in the current film). Redford displays his usual gentility, thereby managing to drain every bit of vitality out of this golfing-as-metaphor-for-life fantasy. One wishes he could inject some passion into his projects, because you walk away from them admiring the craft but wondering why you don’t feel more involved in what transpired over the last two hours.

In “The Legend of Bagger Vance,” he miscalculates from the start, shoehorning the movie into a superfluous framing story featuring Jack Lemmon as an aging golfer named Hardy Greaves. Unfortunately, this allows Lemmon to annoy us with an unctuous voiceover narration, which pops up at random throughout the movie. (This means, of course, that the movie is really one giant flashback.) The young Hardy (played by J. Michael Montcrief in what might be the film’s only convincing performance) is our eyes and ears during the events that the movie depicts with such utter solemnity. Following the suicide of her father, the beauteous Adele Invergordon (Theron) (the names of the characters are some of the more fanciful elements in the story) decides to hold a golf match to publicize her late father’s golf club. The club is his legacy, the thing he cared most about in the world, but, this being the Great Depression and all, it’s about to go out of business. Through a combination of feminine wiles and artful screenwriting, Adele manages to convince Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen (two real life legendary golfers) to play in the match.

The Savannah elders, who only moments earlier had been trying to pressure Adele into selling the course, now decide that, for the honor of the city, there must be a Savannah man in the match. Luckily for us all, the idiosyncratically named Rannulph Junuh (Damon) lives in Savannah, and was once its greatest golfer. Alas, he is now a poor, broken down drunk, who has “lost his swing.” It seems that Junuh endured some traumatic experiences in World War I, leaving him so shaken that he could no longer play golf at all. These experiences are revealed in flashbacks that are most notable for their vagueness and lack of focus. Perhaps we are visually spoiled in this age of “Saving Private Ryan,” but there isn’t much in the war scenes that would seem awful enough to devastate a stalwart like Junuh, unless he had a low tolerance for noise and poor visibility. In any event, nowadays he mostly sits around playing poker and drinking, until Adele, with whom he had once been in love, tries to convince him to play in her tournament. Long on about now you may be wondering where Bagger Vance is; after all, the movie is named for him. Well, he finally does appear, in the form of Will Smith.

Smith is likeable and talented enough to make virtually any character seem interesting, and he does the best he can with what he is given. Bagger emerges from the mists like the ghost of golf pros past, and announces that he has arrived to help Junuh get his swing back. Apparently his strategy for doing so is a long series of aphorisms, stories, and homilies, none of which seem to have as much to do with golf as with finding your inner self-esteem. It is hard to tell if this saint-like caddie is the world’s first sports psychologist or its first personal coach. Smith is engaging, and has all the best lines, but even he can’t rouse this movie from its gauzy torpor. The last half of “The Legend of Bagger Vance” is comprised entirely of Adele’s golf tournament, which suggests that if you find golf to be too unbearably dull to watch, you might be well advised to go see some other movie. Bagger follows Junuh around the course (with young Hardy in tow), dispensing bits of wisdom, and helping Junuh fight his way back into contention. I won’t reveal who wins the match, but suffice it to say that all those Baggerisms don’t go to waste.

Throughout the movie, Matt Damon does the movie star thing, his boyish features and flaxen hair exuding a golden glow, but Junuh remains a cipher. We never have the slightest sense of who or what he is. In fact, a lot of his background is imparted to us through a series of old newspaper clippings that we get to see on the silver screen. Meanwhile, it seems that Charlize Theron is condemned to playing southern women with a lot of sass, but her character here is, if anything, less well developed than Junuh’s. The rekindling of the love affair between the two of them is completely unconvincing; looks aside, there doesn’t seem to be much reason either of them would want to spend any time with the other. Apparently Bagger’s teachings have helped Junuh with his love life as well as his golf. Going to see “The Legend of Bagger Vance” is a bit like going to church, albeit a green and tree-lined one. It feels like something that is supposed to be good for you, it is very impressive to look at, and comes complete with emotive music (in this case Rachel Portman’s ecclesiastical score). Some will find it comforting, but when you get right down to it, it isn’t much fun at all. (11/16/00)