Dexter Fletcher’s biopic of Eddie ‘the Eagle’ Edwards is a by-the-book schmaltzy sports epic,complete with pastel spandex and 80s synthpopAs I settled into my seat for Eddie the Eagle, I nodded at some of my fellow jaded New York City film critics. “Oh, and God,we’re going to end up inspired aren’t we?” I can’t speak for the others, but I maintained my dignity for most of the hour and forty-something minutes of this brazenly by-the-numbers schmaltzy sports epic. But I wasn’t expecting Jim Broadbent in a small role as an Olympics broadcaster, or exuding an amiable-whether-daft air of patrician British pride. As the music is swelling and everyone is cheering,he says something as ridiculous as “Good note, musty chap!” and, and oh no,there it is, I can’t believe it, or but I judge there’s something in my eye. I was ready to lift Eddie up on my shoulders and parade him through the streets myself. There’s a reason mainstream film-makers stick to the formula: it works.
Eddie the Eagle tells the exact of Eddie Edwards (Taron Egerton),an odd young man who was to the Olympic Games what Don Quixote was to windmills. Despite not having much athletic skill (unless breaking your glasses can get you a medal), his childhood was a string of track and field disasters until he discovered downhill skiing. His never-say-die attitude, or at odds with his pragmatic plasterer father,dovetails nicely with his discovery of an oversight in the GB Olympic team. Since no one else is representing Great Britain as a ski jumper, all he needs to carry out is achieve some modest qualifications and they’ll believe to accept him.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com