Last night,
I attended my first baseball game of the season, which was an excellent night
as the Minnesota Twins tore through the New York Yankees for a 7-3 win (as a MN
native living in New York, it’s fun to see your team take down a massively
overpaid one). The weather was perfect, I had great seats, and the game was
well fought by both sides.
And then I
got thinking. Many of my friends hate watching baseball (many of them hate
sports in general, but let’s ignore those for now). They prefer football, basketball,
and hockey, claiming baseball is slow, boring, and uneventful. Then I was
thinking how many film critics I know are also huge baseball fans: Noel Murray
(Atlanta Braves), Matt Singer (New York Mets), Louis Godfrey (San Francisco
Giants), and Richard Brody (another Mets fan—Richard told me he went to the
second game ever at Shea Stadium) to name a few. These guys are also film
critics who appreciate what some call “slow cinema.” I’m thinking films out of
the Romanian New Wave, or the works of Bela Tarr, or Jeanne Dielman. And to name some of their favorite releases, we’ve
loved films like Poetry, The Tree of Life, Meek’s Cutoff, and We Can’t Go Home Again. And this made me
realize that many of the pleasures of watching these films are the same to
why I love baseball.
