If the perfect sports movie illuminates the fundamentals that make one fall in love with the game, there may be no better movie about baseball than Carson Lund’s Eephus. Structured solely around a single round of America’s national pastime, Lund’s debut feature beautifully, humorously articulates the particular nuances, rhythms, and details of an amateur men’s league game. By subverting tropes of the standard sports movie––which often captures peak physical performance in front of legions of adoring fans––Lund has crafted something far more singularly compelling. Rather than grand slams and no-hitters, there are errors aplenty and no shortage of beer guts and weathered muscles amongst the motley crew. Lund is more interested in examining the peculiar set of social codes that only apply when one is on the field, unimpeded by life’s responsibilities and entirely focused on the rules of the game.

Carrying an aura of bittersweetness through its tranquil frames, it’s the final match for these teams as the dilapidated stadium will begin to be demolished the very next day to make room for a new school. With a gentle yet rigorous vision, Eephus coalesces into a reflective study of nostalgia: both for a game that has evolved and for a certain kind of American social life that is dwindling as fast as the sun fades. For the men on the field, every ball, strike, or hit carries the utmost importance in this secluded haven, even if there are barely any spectators and the umpires have gone home. It’s in this particular sense of mutual passion––a slice of waning American camaraderie––that Michael Basta, Nate Fisher, and Lund’s screenplay finds its beating heart. Even for those who don’t know a thing about baseball, the connections and rivalries that play out both on the field and in the dugouts carry a sense of colloquial, small-town warmth that’s easy to connect with. For Lund, it’s less about the plays being made and more about the shit-talking, spectating, and abiding by a shared code.

Continue reading my Cannes review.