Note: I will not be spoiling the plot of this film in the following review. Unless you don't like to know a mannequin will be molested prior to watching a movie. In which case, well, I guess I just blew it for you.
I’m not going to take credit for spreading the word of Run, Fatboy, Run to the running community in a previous post. After all, it’s a major film production with a large marketing budget. So let’s just say I probably single-handedly spread the word and leave it at that.
My wife and I took in Run, Fatboy, Run yesterday sans kids. God bless, Mrs. Nitmos. Not only did she tolerate my 14 miler on Sunday (when there was plenty of work to do at home), she then survived a trip to TWO bicycle shops and then sat through a movie heavily involved with marathoning. I expected to fall asleep last night and awake to the repeated thuds of my Asics GT2120’s whacking across my forehead. It didn’t happen (though I noticed my water jug had floaties in it this morning. I don’t remember there being floaties before. I’ll go in for a closer inspection tonight.)
What follows is my two minute review.
The flick is not necessarily a “running movie”. That is just the background for the fairly generic love story surrounding the oafish male lead and his pencilly (+5 for word invention) thin female lead. The movie is no more a running movie than Indiana Jones is an archaeology movie.
That being said, I had some concerns going in:
1) Would the scenes involving the marathon seem realistic?
2) Would I get a couple hilarious gross out jokes to blog about?
3) Would something connected with David (Ben Affleck of the Small Screen) Schwimmer be any good?
1) Yes. The marathon scenes were realistic (except for the part where our oafish marathoner takes a lead ahead of the elite runners for a brief period. I don’t care how fast he was sprinting, he ain’t gonna pass 5 minute milers.)
2) Yes. The film featured the “Scrotal Zone”, mannequin molestation, flying blister pus, and nipple lube. Check. Check. Check. And check. No snot rockets though? (fist raised in anger) Schhhhwiiiiiimmer!!
3) Yes, sorta. The final analysis to follow. I left the theatre feeling slightly light headed and confused though. A feeling I describe as "being Schwimmered" (zing!!).
The main thing I took from it is that a spatula is the best training aid. It doesn’t appear in any of the so called “professional” manuals. However, the film makes pretty clear that a spatula applied swiftly to the back of the legs works extremely well in motivation, endurance, and speed. Fear the spatula. I would have thought, of all kitchen utensils, that a turkey baster would find the most uses in running. Shows what I know.
So, how to score this film? If I use the standard Ebertian scale, I’d give it a Thumbs Up. If I use the more common 4 star scale it becomes more difficult but I’d say its either a 2 ½ or 3. Which one? A fellow runner like myself might lean towards a 3 while a non runner (see Mrs. Nitmos) might opt for the 2 ½. Hmmm, much debate. That pus filled blister spraying over the poor schmuck’s face was pretty funny. And the physical representation of the runner’s wall was pretty neat. But the overall plot was fairly average. Hmmm, well, I’m not going to waffle. I know my readers stop by for expert analysis and definitive answers and the complete lack of a criss cross pattern to my face (no? no? reread the previous sentence). I refuse to be indecisive. So, probably, definitively, I’ll give it 2 ¾ stars.
The fact that I got free tickets in made it a lot more palatable (+2) I suspect. I’d sit through another Sister Act sequel for free tickets.
Sunday was my last double digit mileage run before Boston! I don't mind saying, it was great! Shorts. No gloves. I wouldn't say I was blurry but I was certainly a bit frayed around the edges to the casual observer as I passed by.
Last mile checked in at 6:53. Bring on the 'thon.
TWO WEEKS TO BOSTON!!