Slap Happy: 'Slap Shot'

I’m not entirely sure about this, but since I was recently in the position of talking sports movies (and I'm not exactly a sports fan), I’m going to wager that because Slap Shot is a sports picture, and sports pictures (excluding filmdom’s few exceptions, like Raging Bull, Rocky and Pride of the Yankees) are often underappreciated, George Roy Hill's hockey classic isn’t given its full due. And I’m not talking as simply a great sports picture (it is beloved, after all, with a rabid cult following,), but as the greatest sports film ever made. Period.

I’m not being hyperbolic; it’s just that perfect. A pure sports film, Slap Shot encompasses all aspects of the game: It’s about the team, it's about the coaches, it's about the towns, it's about the politics and, with almost transcendent gusto, it's about the dirt. Hilariously vicious dirt that boasts some of cinema’s most toxic lines -- lines I can’t repeat here but...oh what the hell, yes I can repeat. Or, rather show. And it boasts the greatest use of that Maxine Nightingale song -- a tune that shouldn't be allowed in any other motion picture ever again. I can only picture cold busses, booze, rust brown flairs and Strother Martin while hearing this song -- and that's how it should be.

And then there’s star Paul Newman who, in his older, ruggedly handsome visage, carries the picture with an odd sort of foul-mouthed dignity we simply don't see in movies these days (and so naturally -- if an actor is doing blue, it's always so damn obvious). Playing a middle-aged minor league hockey player/coach, he’s a tough, quick-witted guy, but in quieter moments, touchingly doubtful about his future. He’s attempting to save his washed-up team, and that requires, not surprisingly for hockey, a need to amp up the brutality.

Enter the picture’s greatest addition, the Hanson brothers, a trio of Ramones-resembling prodigies who absolutely annihilate on the ice, but end their days playing with toys in their hotel room (they also, quite memorably, speak in bizarre twin talk that no one can understand). No matter if fellow player Michael Ontkean (whose bitter wife, played by Lindsay Crouse, is so sick of the hockey life, she's become a drunk) isn’t taking to the newer method, the boys get the job done and make the crowds happy.

But their triumphs aren’t simply played for audience gratification, since there’s a lot more to Slap Shot than carving, backstabbing and high, hard ones — there’s complicated adult drama (particularly regarding Newman and his ex-wife, Jennifer Warren) and an extra amount of thought mixed with the humor regarding violence, and just where the hell some of these men’s lives are going. And every single character is quirky, lovable and authentic, with Paul Newman's performance ranking as one of the most fascinating in his career (and those leather outfits! Sweet Jesus, Newman could pull off the slinky brown ensemble).

Also interesting is that, while it's hands-down the most profane sports movie ever made, all of this tough talk was scripted by Nancy Dowd, a woman -- and it received much heat for her salty language and creative uses of the "f" bomb. And it pulls no punches in the mean department. Especially when a frustrated Newman informs a woman that her elementary school son "looks like a [expletive] to me... You better get married again soon 'cause he's gonna wind up with somebody's [expletive] in his mouth before you can say 'Jack Robinson'."

Can you imagine the hero of a movie saying this today? And without every member of the PC police on the actor or picture's case? Or worse, shallow "shock" loving viewers watching the film simply because he utters such nasty dialouge? He's pissed. He just says it. It's not a stupid Dane Cook routine, it's hockey. Oh how I love the '70s.