Outside of boxing, baseball’s the sport that has produced the most memorable films. Baseball’s treated as a reverential mythology. Perhaps, the intimacy of baseball is so accessible that it has led filmmakers to tell stories about larger-than-life heroes and legends, which is the case with Field of Dreams, A League of Their Own, or The Natural. Even satirical films, including Major League or Bull Durham, benefit from the implication that an unexpected home run could capture the imagination of a captive audience.
Baseball films have become less common in recent years, and it’s not just because the “inspirational sports story” model has already been executed countless times. Rather, there’s less incentive to believe that an outstanding sports achievement would be a once-in-a-lifetime moment, particularly when the cultural depiction of baseball is so devoid of cynicism. The best baseball films of the 21st century are those that acknowledge the grating indignities suffered by modern baseball players and teams, such as the competitive strategy in Moneyball or the immigrant’s “American dream” in Sugar. Eephus is a striking alternative because of the anonymity of its subjects. There’s only a few Mickey Mantles or Honus Wagners out there, but there’s plenty of charmingly mediocre schmucks.
Set in a small Massachusetts town, Eephus is set during the last season for an independent league before its ballfield is paved away and replaced with a new school facility. Neither of the two competing teams are particularly skilled, and thus there’s no real outcry upon the announcement that their meager excuse for a stadium will be demolished; for most players, convincing their wives and children to show up is a laborious task in its own right. Although baseball may naturally feel more timeless than any other sport, particularly for independent leagues that don’t have access to advanced gameplay innovations, writer/director Carson Lund made the smart decision to set Eephus in the 1990s. Without any social media to document the history of these two teams, any evidence of their existence will effectively be deleted.
The lack of sensationalism or celebrity in Eephus allowed the film to focus on the game itself. A typical sports drama would show only a few brief moments in early innings before using the last stretch of the game as the climax; however, Eephus is a 98-minute film that’s entirely set on a run-down field, and has an understanding of how draining a match can be. Innings pass without any runs, and the occasional big hit is more exasperating than it is exhilarating. One of the most amusing jokes is centered on the lack of available balls. The effort produced by both of the teams is far more visceral without a cheering crowd or cameras trained on each strike.
A film with as sprawling of an ensemble as Eephus is traditionally more concept-heavy than it is reliant on individual characters, but Lund’s cast is filled with compelling unknown actors, each of whom has a distinct characteristic that goes beyond a gimmick. The lack of established names within the cast is critical to the film’s realism, and it also used as an equalizing factor; both teams, the Alder’s Paint and Riverdogs, have their captains, but no player has any real status to impose upon another. That appearances by onlookers are only intermittent has ensured that these men must adhere to the rules based on a mutual understanding of good faith. While there’s a presence of competitiveness, a heated argument over a contentious play would only be detrimental to what is overall a pleasurable experience.
The lack of momentum within the game itself is initially jarring, and could easily be mistaken for the type of detachment that’s too common in American independent cinema. However, Lund’s observations about the idiosyncrasies of the game aren’t intended to be disparaging, especially when Eephus is so keen to acknowledge the role that each member of the team would need to play to achieve a win. The standout performances in the film are from former left-handed pitcher Bill “Spaceman” Lee and retired Boston Red Sox announcer Joe Castiglione. Eephus is as detached from the MLB as possible for a baseball film, but the inclusion of real professionals does indicate Lund’s affinity for the game’s history.
The passive progression of run-counting is a humorous way to introduce the idea that Eephus is enchanted by; neither team wants to end the game because it would mean being extinguished from one another’s lives. This isn’t a concept that Lund is interested in for saccharine purposes, but it does add a wrinkle. The most subversive idea in Eephus, and what makes it different from the vast majority of sports cinema, is that the prolonged nature of the game is a feature, and not a bug. Victory’s held off until the last moment imaginable, and it's only called after exorbitant action has been taken to avoid a conclusion.
Eephus is a film that’s as dependent on the theatrical experience as a spectacle-driven release like F1 or Sinners; it’s only in a distraction-free environment that the wit and whimsy of Eephus’ cast of characters is most resonant. The melancholic subtext is less taxing because it's not angry, given that the dissolution of an obscure league would feel inevitable. If anything, Eephus is most representative of passive sports fans who wouldn’t choose a team to root for because they’d rather watch “a good game.”