Hustle (Jeremiah Zagar, 2022) Adam Sandler’s new basketball-centric passion project sets itself apart from its sports-movie kin with its documentary-like attention to the rules of the game—both on and off the court. Taking a cue from the grounded and soulful performance of its star, the film exudes a disarming sincerity and rough-hewn charm. The Sandman plays the absurdly named NBA scout Stanley Sugerman, a doughy, bearded schlub whose appearance belies his well-honed instincts and expertise. After the sudden death of his employer and mentor, the aged owner of the Philadelphia 76ers (Robert Duvall in a brief, avuncular turn), Stanley finds his 30-year career in stasis—if not imminent peril—as the old man’s feckless failson (Ben Foster with a gleaming Mr. Clean dome) takes over. So far, so Billy Madison, with Stanley’s purehearted doofus squaring off against a sneering child of privilege. Given one last chance to save his job, Stanley stumbles upon a diamond-in-the-rough construction worker Bo Cruz (Spanish NBA journeyman Juancho Hernangómez) hustling street ballers in Barcelona. What ensues is a Pygmalion-like (or rather, Rocky-like, given the many foggy early-morning jogs through a grimy Philly) transformation of the raw into the cooked, as Stanley—still living with the physical and psychological fallout of a college drunk driving accident—risks his career on molding Bo into an NBA player. The film’s success is owed in part to the inspired casting of real-life hoopers. Though some are natural actors (Anthony Edwards as a young, dickish phenom; Kenny “The Jet” Smith as a high-rolling agent), and others not so much (former MVP Dirk Nowitzki as himself—the role he was apparently not born to play), the players all talk shop and hoop with lived-in ease. As the drama unfolds, emotions are bared, lessons are learned, Freudian father-son revelations are aired, and the film transcends its familiar underdog narrative, turning into a moving and thoughtful portrait of the ways in which ingrained reflexes—the muscle memory of a shooting motion or the shame engendered by a long-ago error of judgment—can set boundaries on our achievements.
