PHILADELPHIA – The only time Invincible captures Vince Papale is when the credits start to roll and clips of the real Vince, with his dark, shaggy hair, swarthy complexion, killer teeth, and 50,000-megawatt Joe Namath smile, fill the screen. If you were in a hurry to get out of the theater, you missed it. Too bad. It was the best part of the goddamn movie.
The second-best bit was the opening sequence, wherein Iggles fans boo, throw stuff, spit loogies, and get into fights in the stands. (Seeing as how this is an inspirational, take-the-kids movie, nobody is shown [peeing] on the people in the next row.)
Unfortunately, between the promising introduction and the appearance of the ghost of Vince Papale at the end, Invincible depended on the limp thespian stylings of Mark Wahlberg for juice. That was a mistake. If this had been a film about the athletic exploits of Kevin Bacon or David Spade, perhaps Mr. Wahlberg would have been right for the part. As Vince Papale he was way out of his league.
Matter of fact, Mark Wahlberg is to Vince Papale what Kraft Parmesan is to Parmigiano-Reggiano. Vince, at six-feet-two, is irrepressible and larger than life. Mr. Wahlberg, at five-feet-eight, is scarcely larger than his Invincible love interest, Elizabeth Banks. Where Vince Papale is Philly enough to have Cheese Whiz in his veins, Mr. Wahlberg has tap water. Where Vince Papale is Mediterranean to his eyeballs, Mark Wahlberg is your basic Medigan.
Nuff said. If you insist on seeing Invincible (144 minutes), here’s what to do. After the opening sequence duck next door and watch You, Me and Dupree (109 minutes). You’ll have plenty of time to hit the head or get a two-pound box of Raisinettes before you duck back into Invincible to catch the real Vince in the credits.
Coming tomorrow: Bob Dylan’s Modern Times.
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