`Little Big League': Hey, You Fans, It's Mostly On The Ball

Movie review

XX 1/2 "Little Big League," with Jason Robards, Luke Edwards, Timothy Busfield and Ashley Crow. Directed by Andrew Scheinman, from a screenplay by Adam Scheinman and Gregory K. Pincus. City Center, Lewis & Clark, Alderwood, Kent 6, Gateway 8, Factoria, Crossroads. "PG" - Parental guidance suggested, because of mature humor. -----------------------------------------------------------------

Making up in low-key charm for what it lacks in originality, "Little Big League" boosts its unlikely kids' fantasy with enough credibility to keep it involving and a positively infectious passion for the finer points of the national pastime.

It's a standard what-if scenario - in this case, what if a 12-year-old boy inherited a listless, slumping major league baseball team and managed it to an impressive season comeback? Already you know pretty much how it's going to turn out, but at least this potential summer sleeper has enough integrity to stay out of the World Series. That would've been too much of a good thing.

As it is, young Billy Heywood (Luke Edwards) has his hands full with his newly acquired Minnesota Twins. His knowledge of the game is encyclopedic, but when he inherited the team from his just-deceased grandfather (Jason Robards) and installed himself as manager, he didn't give much thought to grumpy free agents, inflated contract hassles, and relief pitchers who won't take orders from a kid. What's worse, he tells his (fictional) Twins they've forgotten that baseball is supposed to be fun.

As the season progresses, Billy gradually forgets his own advice, turning sour and businesslike and alienating his best pals while his mom (Ashley Crow) starts dating the Twins' all-star first baseman (Timothy Busfield). (By the way, does anyone know why so many movie kids have single moms who are drop-dead gorgeous? Is this some kind of screenwriter's mandate?)

The Metrodomers finally pull out of their slump, and after producing most of Rob Reiner's films, first-time director Andrew Scheinman demonstrates a Reiner-like ability to maintain a sharp combination of formulaic entertainment and an adequate degree of dramatic sincerity. Edwards strikes a fine balance between youthful confusion, frustration, and wide-eyed responsibility for a dream come true, grounding what might have been a too-fanciful comedy with admirable restraint.

Instead of forcing the comedy, "Little Big League" comes by its laughs honestly, given the broad-stroke potential of a kid assuming power over a squad of ornery jocks. But despite the best efforts of Busfield and a locker room full of supporting players, there's a generic blandness to the team's camaraderie, and the movie's two-hour length grows increasingly yawn-inducing.

What keeps it all going is the timeless appeal of the game itself, and more than any recent baseball movie, "Little Big League" digs into the often neglected detail of baseball strategy, ranging from the hilarity of excessively esoteric announcer's statistics to the vital importance of structuring a winning lineup.

This on-field authenticity puts the baseball fanatic in a perfect position for vicarious thrills with a host of real-life big-leaguers, not the least of whom are Seattle's own Ken Griffey Jr. and strikeout ace Randy Johnson. Both are presented as intimidating heavies (perhaps an early taste of Griffey's possible appearance in "Die Hard 3"), and they give "Little Big League" a much-needed kick. For a minute there, even Mariner manager Lou Piniella looks entertained.