#25 — Hoosiers (David Anspaugh, 1986)
A couple of years ago, I saw Gene Hackman with his regular writing partner Daniel Lenihan at a book reading. When it came time for the Q & A portion of the event, the audience was thankfully respectful enough of the actual motivation behind Hackman’s presence to largely confine their queries to topics relating to the book being actively promoted and writing in general. In fact, one of the only questions that broached film at all arrived after Hackman himself noted that he was effectively retired from acting. An audience member asked if he’d be interested in appearing in a film version of the book he wrote. Hackman responded with his distinctive chuckle and noted that anyone who wanted to see him act could always rent some of his older films. “There’s lots of good ones at the video store,” he said, “like Hoosiers…” and he trailed off to appreciative laughter.

I found it completely fascinating that the fairly modest high school basketball drama that Hackman starred in nearly twenty-five years earlier was, presumably, the first film that sprung to mind for the extraordinarily accomplished actor. Not either of the two films that earned him Academy Awards, not something more recent, not something bigger and splashier, not a film containing a deep, dark performance that an actor might be interested in holding up as the daunting pinnacle of a career. I doubt that Hackman spends an awful lot of time watching his own films, but maybe he’s like me and he can never quite bring himself to turn off Hoosiers any time he stumbles upon one of its many, many showings on cable.

Set in the small town of Hickory, Indiana, during the early nineteen-fifties, Hoosiers follows a disgraced college basketball coach who has to settle for work guiding a high school team with a handful of farm boys on the roster. The coach isn’t especially unorthodox, but he is demanding, even once sacrificing the ability of his team to put five men on the floor during a game to prove a point to a player that’s been benched. In a region that takes its basketball very seriously, this puts him at odds with much of the community, at least until his methods prove to be exactly what’s needed to make an improbable run at the state championship. Hackman plays Coach Norman Dale with the naturalistic ease that’s basically his trademark. He gets at the way the character is chastened by his current circumstances and yet can’t bring himself to coast. His mind is always working, and he has an inherent decency that overcomes whatever self-pity colors his initial arrival in town, causing him to commit to this team, these boys and the people that surround them. Hackman’s work is deeply felt, lending the character an added dignity that brings weight to a sports story that could have easily felt rote.

Angelo Pizzo’s screenplay, based very loosely on a true-life story, lays out the various relationships and conflicts with precision, and David Anspaugh, in his feature film directorial debut, lets it all play out with an unfussy authenticity. The film feels firmly ensconced in its era without resorting to aggressively inserted period details, a choice that only heightens the sense of timelessness about it. Anspaugh also directs all of the sports sequences absolutely beautifully, demonstrating that clear-eyed vision matters more than pushy technique in such matters. There’s a consistent elegance to the way that the director frames his images, an elegance that spills over to all of the relationships in the film. When Coach Dale takes a walk and talks with teacher Myra Fleener, played terrifically by Barbara Hershey, it comes across as if the film is tagging along with two genuine people rather than pressing in to help fire plot pistons. It’s a mix of graciousness and quiet confidence that cuts through the entire film. Those are pretty ingratiating qualities. No wonder it’s always a pleasure to let Hoosiers into the living room.