Reverse the Curse
“Reverse the Curse” used to be called “Bucky F*cking Dent,” premiering at the Tribeca Film Festival last year. Even this title would have given the film some much needed personality and it’s also the name of Duchovny’s book, on which this movie is based. It’s a baseball story and a father son story that doesn’t understand either, using fandom and a terminal diagnosis in cheap, manipulative ways. Duchovny the director never bothers to ground his melodrama in anything real, whiffing not only on capturing the period but also on having an honest sense of those who live and die by their favorite teams’ fortunes.
Although it throws in Jimmy Carter clips and some dubious fashion choices, among other things, “Reverse the Curse” may as well be set in 1998 or 2018 for that matter. The only reason we know it takes place in 1978 is because Ted (Logan Marshall-Green) tells us so right at the beginning: He’s a writer who makes money as a peanut vendor at Yankee Stadium even though Marty (Duchovny) is an ardent fan of the Boston Red Sox, New York’s biggest rival. As anyone with even basic knowledge of baseball knows, the Red Sox were supposedly cursed when Babe Ruth left them to go to the Yankees, causing a championship drought that lasted generations. They didn’t win the World Series from 1918 until 2004, “Reverse the Curse” takes place squarely during that time
In fact, Marty’s attachment to his team grows so severe that it affects his health. When he gets struck with a terminal cancer diagnosis late in life (he dies his hair gray for most of Duchovny’s hairless performance), Ted notices some days are better than others depending on whether or not the Red Sox won; so he sets about conning basically everyone around them, replacing the box scores in Marty’s daily paper with the ones for a winning team and getting his buddies to help fake storms hose on roof, metal to mimic thunder so dad will think a loss was merely rained out. Maybe some of this comes off as half hearted because we never believe Ted is really that attached to his father; maybe it’s also because Duchovny has no idea how to direct a movie like this. While he forms something of an honest relationship with Marianna (Stephanie Beatriz), Marty’s “Death Specialist,” who is charming and nice, there’s not enough there for even one whole character, let alone two or three.
Can Ted keep Marty alive long enough to finally see the curse reversed during that fateful playoff stretch of 1978? And could they fall in love at the same time?
It’s hard to watch something like “Reverse the Curse” and say Duchovny isn’t right for the role when you can tell he poured so much of himself into it. Not only does he play Ted’s dying father but he also wrote the book on which this film is based (as well as every word spoken or seen in it). The problem might be that Duchovny just doesn’t have enough range as an actor: He always looks 10 years too young for parts like these (or any others), but more importantly than that, he lacks the kind of depth or gravity that someone should bring when playing a dying Red Sox fan. It shouldn’t be surprising if Logan Marshall-Green were miscast as well but Stephanie Beatriz frustrates most; she pushes through all her character’s melodrama without ever finding anything real underneath. She gives more than anyone else here does, which at least provides some solid foundation work, still wish it was for another project though.
“Reverse the Curse” lacks truth beyond a few jokes and Beatriz’s performance. I understand that this isn’t really a baseball movie, but it’s a story about love for the game that seems ignorant of or indifferent to its subject matter. There is such an incredible shallowness to this tale about fathers and sports it feels almost like emotional manipulation using these two elements without actually saying anything real about people or life.
It doesn’t seem possible how many people have lived and died around their favorite teams while the film remains surprisingly soulless. Maybe it’s because Duchovny has always been more distant than intimate with his roles, which can be effective given certain scripts but not here. There’s nothing disinterested in nearly a century of athletic heartache. Take my word for it I’ve been there before, and doubt anyone involved with making this picture has.
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