Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner), an Iowa farmer going through a mid-life crises, hears a voice telling him “If you build it, he will come.” He takes this to mean he needs to build a baseball field so that the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson (Ray Liotta) can come and play baseball. When eight ghosts show up, he hears a voice telling him to “ease his pain.” This starts him on a mission to find a now-forgotten writer (James Earl Jones) and a dead doctor (Burt Lancaster).
It’s all very simple: God is an American, life is a baseball game, and you should fight for your dreams, as long as your dreams involve baseball. Grab your Mom and an apple pie as it is Americana time!
There’s little of sense in Field of Dreams, which isn’t all that problematic. No explanation is ever given for why the ghosts only come to the field or where they’ve been, why Kinsella is being given this “gift” instead of thousands of others with father issues, or why the messages are overly cryptic, but that’s OK as this is a film about emotion. Well, the cryptic message bit is annoying the third time it pops up, but let’s not dwell on that.
But back to those emotions. There isn’t a moment of the film that exists because it flows naturally, makes sense (I already covered the whole “sense” thing), or is part of a story. Everything is there to manipulate the emotions of the audience, and how much you enjoy Field of Dreams is based on how successful it is at “tugging on your heart strings” and how forgiving you are of such tactics. Well, that and how much you like baseball. You need to like it a lot.
On the tugging side, the film wheels out an arsenal of weeping-inducing weapons: an unresolved argument with a father, a lost dream, a little girl in jeopardy, a hero who has lost his way, a mean banker, a potential foreclosure, and too many more to name.
Me? My emotions tend to be hit by actual character development along with tragedies or victories that spring from the story, so I was left watching a whole lot of empty filmmaker games. Plus, I’ve never considered selling my soul for a chance to play in the big leagues, which is the degree of fanaticism required to buy into the movie.
For a time, when Ray is following clues to find what it all means, it looks like the film is going to become a mystery and I had hopes of something interesting being discovered. It’s silly to hope. Soon after, actual story is replaced by the message that you need to love your father while you can (oh, and love is shown through playing catch). Sigh.
Then there are the speeches. Lots and lots of speeches. I actually enjoyed the film when someone wasn’t making a speech (ah, such brief moments). As the film progresses, the number of speeches increase and I had to wonder if there is some critical mass for speeches where the celluloid will explode, eradiating us with “message” particles. If so, the blast should have occurred when James Earl Jones recites that the one constant in life is baseball and that it reminds us of all in life that is good. Ummmm. Yeah.
As for the acting, it isn’t bad in general. Jones, Lancaster, and Liotta are as believable as anyone could be. Timothy Busfield, playing the unnecessary bad guy, is shrill; that’s it, just shrill. Amy Madigan, as “The Wife,” does the best she can with a dismal role, complete with an otherwise pointless scene where she battles against local book censors so we can see what a little firebrand she really is (shucks!). As for Costner, he uses all of his talent, once again demonstrating that Keanu Reeves is a national treasure and master thespian. I have no idea how a man can yell, and still not change the tone of his voice, but that is the magic that is Costner.
The film has a few amusing moments (the ghosts playing ball) along with some particularly embarrassing ones (Ray’s tantrum) but they all blend together into a schmaltz smoothie filled with enough saccharine to choke Frank Capra. Drink up and play ball!