Opens October 1, 1999

The opening shot of Mystery, Alaska is exquisite, seemingly promising some sort of majesty to come. We stare at a frozen river that cuts through miles of icy white tundra as young hockey player Stevie Weeks (Ryan Northcott), his eyes shining, glides along on his skates. It's a spiritual moment as boy communes with nature in a ballet of motion. Okay, now snap out of it. You might as well just leave the theater at this point because, after this elegant moment, the film goes downhill fast. Very fast.

Now, I am self-admittedly not a hockey fan. Maybe, the female side of me just doesn't get the idea of a bunch of macho guys skimming the ice in order to beat each other up. Still, I'm a sucker for the sort of sports story that brings home Americana and celebrates the indomitable human spirit. Mystery, Alaska should have all the makings of such a film, so where did David Kelley go wrong? Well, picture this: Imagine turning on an episode of Northern Exposure in the middle of the season, having never watched the show. Then, sit through two hours of wacky antics that feel like in-jokes. Add a dose of whimsical but stock characters that spout, by turns, perky, inspirational and dramatic dialogue. You getting the picture? The movie plays out like the eighth or ninth episode of a television dram-edy that won't be around next season.

For his trademark confined setting, Kelley settles on the small town of Mystery, Alaska. Mystery is a not-so-picture postcard burg that looks like a set built on the backlot. Maybe that's because production designer Rusty Smith did build it from scratch in Alaska. One can only wonder if there wasn't some quaint undiscovered town where they could have filmed; at least it would have looked real and not like something that belonged at Disneyland. So, every weekend in Frontierland -- I mean, Mystery -- the townsfolk turn out to see their men and boys strut their stuff in the "Saturday Game", the players of which are hand chosen by the town "elders" headed up by Mayor Scott Pitcher (Colm Meaney) and local lawyer Pruitt (Maury Chakin). See, hockey is this hamlet's singular, defining and very masculine passion, so much so that Donna (Mary McCormack), the wife of local sheriff and hockey player John Beibe (Russell Crowe), claims that she's glad she had boys, not girls.

No one can skate on a pond like these guys and that fact lures former hometown boy turned big city producer Charlie Damer (Hank Azaria) back to town. Charlie has set up an exhibition game with none other than the New York Rangers, and, after much discussion, the town votes to go for the gusto and show the world that they're #1. Now pay attention, because this is where things get murky. Instead of jumping into the expected "go for the glory"/America and apple pie approach, Kelley and O'Byrne decide to write a TV episode. Indeed, so much time is spent giving every character a back story and a personal conflict that we start pulling our hair out over all the humanity thrown at us. We don't want humanity, damn it, just give us some action. This is, after all, a hockey movie, isn't it?

Kelley and O'Byrne seem to have forgotten that, relying instead on their quirky charm and their penchant for melodrama to drive the story. Beibe and his wife Donna start locking horns about the return of Charlie, who was Donna's high school love. Beibe pouts when he is cut from the team and is asked to be the coach. A sample of clever dialogue: Donna tells Beibe that all former hockey players claim they like coaching better. Beibe replies that it's because they can't play hockey any more. A pearl of wisdom, that. The secondary characters, too, all have their moments in the sun -- most of them taken directly out of a Picket Fences episode. Sadly, in this morass of emotional sidebars, we never really feel anything for anybody, even when the requisite TV-style death/funeral occurs (I'm not saying who).

Focus finally returns to Beibe, who realizes he isn't much of a coach and implores Judge Burns (Burt Reynolds) to lead the team to victory. The Judge agrees, but only -- here's a feel good moment -- if Beibe comes back to the team as captain. From here on, it's the predictable string of training vignettes leading up to the final game, all filmed with a particular lack of inspiration by Jay Roach. Roach may have the wacky humor to pull off Austin Powers, but he doesn't know squat about filming a sports film. The result is especially apparent in the final game sequence, which has got to be one of the most boring games in hockey history. Roach tries to spruce it up by cutting away to his chum Mike Myers -- in an over-the-top cameo as a former hockey star -- but Myers is so out-of-place that he's more annoyance than diversion.

In the end, while much of the lugubrious pacing and flat flavor of the film can be blamed on Roach, the fault lies mostly with Kelley. He is surely king of TV Land, but he has yet to translate his unique brand of intimate melodrama to the screen. Unlike television, film has much more specific requirements. So David (and Sean), here's your Screenwriting 101 lesson for the day: Choose one hero and one conflict-- not ten of each. And remember, dialogue and quirkiness do not make for a power play.