Eephus

"Why do they care so much? Don't they have anything better to do?"

This comment from a young girl to her brother echoes throughout the film, a call for you to meditate on that very topic yourself. On the surface, we're watching a recreational baseball game unfold over the course of a day. The players are a ragtag collection of misfit dudes: young and old, skinny and overweight, white and black, friendly and bitter, tired and peppy. They've been playing together for years, two teams locked in an endless battle on the diamond. And they have their regular spectators. Franny (Cliff Blake), who faithfully shows up to keep the box score for every single game for no reason other than he wants to. The older gentleman who really, really loves hot dogs. The teenage dirt bags heckling Rich (Ray Hryb) in the outfield. The silent fat kid whom Ed (Keith William Richards) sends off for some cigarettes, and is later discovered lighting up in the woods.

This is the environment that surrounds and weaves through the last game that will ever be played at Soldiers Field in Douglas, Massachusetts. It's being torn up, but not for something easy to be pissed off about, like a parking lot or office building or luxury apartments. No, as we learn from a radio broadcast and the players' occasional comments, the town is building a new school. If you've ever set foot inside a secondary school building in New England, you'll have no trouble believing it's a necessity. These men have more or less accepted that, even if they don't like it. All they can do is come together one last time, and insist on playing every last out, no matter how long it takes.

The atmosphere is simultaneously joyous and funerial yet never tedious or forced, a testament to Carson Lund's confident directing in his feature film debut. The players are incredibly familiar with each other, friendships built on a routine that's covered various phases of their lives. They know each other's families, have inside jokes, and generally have a wonderful rapport, even when they get frustrated with each other. These men are family, whether or not they realize it.

But everything is colored by the knowledge that this is it. There's a sense that their friendships only extend as far as the parking lot. Once it's gone, what will they have to bring them together? Late in the film, there's a suggestion that they could convene for a beer over the winter, to which Graham (Stephen Radochia) can only manage "...We'll see. I'll think on it." He knows, they all know, that off the diamond, they're strangers. Nothing that happened here can be replicated "out there". It's why their families don't come to games, it's why the camera never leaves the field, and it's why they absolutely refuse to let the game end, even when it becomes clear that to continue is insane. They can't bring themselves to let go, because it's the end of far more than just the game.

As such, much of the film consists of the characters reflecting on what it's all meant to them, how important it was to have somewhere to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon, and the joys of competition. They're no longer in anything resembling good shape, and quite a few are physically destroyed by the end of their marathon game. But well before they come out and say it, you know they long ago deemed it worthwhile. Their bodies are monuments to the shifting sands which are about to reconfigure their lives once again.

If all of that sounds heavy and depressing, allow me to dispel you of that notion. This is one of the funniest films I've seen in a bit, maybe since Hundreds of Beavers. The relationships feel as if Lund just plopped a camera in between two old friends, so natural and authentic the dialog is. This dynamic is somehow replicated between all of the players, which is crazy when you think about it. Many movies have a large cast, but few make them all fell like proper characters, as Lund has here. We get to know each player well enough that we start to miss them when they're off screen too long. Which is the exact moment Lund puts them back in front of the camera, instinctually anticipating the audience's restlessness. And each actor fulfills a different role with enough skill and charm that you instantly understand who their character is, and want them to succeed. It's the absurd wind-up of pitcher Troy (David Pridemore), it's Chuck (Theodore Bouloukos) singing to himself in the outfield, it's Glen (Pete Minkarah) serving as his own third-base coach by conversing with himself a la Geri's Game. It's impossible for your mind not to wander back to such communities you've been a part of, be they sports related or not.

Ultimately, this is a movie about the small, unimportant things in life, and all the joy they bring. It's about always putting your all into everything, no matter how pointless. It's about bonding with your peers over shared interests, thin as they may be. But most of all, it's about how this thing that absolutely doesn't matter to anyone off the field, that no one will remember, that won't have a single notable impact on the world, means the world to these guys. It doesn't matter one iota to the universe, but it matters to them, so there's nothing in this world that matters more.