Breaking Down a Miracle on Ice Movie: Smile at the Camera

Since I have the night off from watching playoff hockey (funny how the elimination of more teams from the playoff picture correlates with an increase in the time I can devote to other leisure activities), I decided to fulfill my promise to watch and blog about the next installment of the 1981 Miracle on Ice film. This section focuses on part of the trials process associated with selecting the Olympic team, but since this movie centers around the trials more than its twenty-first century counterpart does, I will continue to examine the trials process in the next blog post as well, as the trials process appears to extend beyond the portion that I’m being for this post. With that caveat, wagons ho! We’re about to depart on the next part of our wonderful journey to gold in Lake Placid.

When we last left our boys, they were besieging Patrick with a million and one questions. Apparently having received answers to all their manifold inquiries, they are now giving their names and getting their photographs taken. This is probably intended to serve as our introduction to all the boys—providing us with a way to place all the faces with a name—but it feels like too little too late, since we’ve already been thrown into the deep end without a life vest, and, anyway, most of these actors (a term I employ here in the loosest possible sense) bear an uncanny resemblance to one another. Basically, this is my disclaimer that at some point in the movie I might end up saying something about how Mark Johnson has this great line when really it was Rob McClanahan who said it, because casting makes everyone look the same. In real life, though, I would never in a million years confuse those two, so I can still keep my real Miracle fan badge, right?

While the Miracle fan board reviews my case, the first guy to come forward to get his picture taken is Rizzo. He strikes a pose that is more arrogant than outgoing, and I’m not sure that’s really him. I’d believe he’d give off a confident but also friendly vibe. Once Rizzo is done with his photo op, OC steps forward to have his picture taken while chewing a wad of gum just like Brett Connolly did in the 2010 NHL Entry Draft when he went to the podium to shake Steve Yzerman’s hand, and we just had to be grateful that he didn’t spit or pick his nose since neither his parents nor his agent had coached him in how to meet a GM and Hall of Famer. Unlike Brett Connolly, OC does not seem as if he is operating under the influence of horse tranquilizers, and he puts on this cocky smirk that I believe is perfect for his character. So far he’s one of the better portrayed guys in this film, though that may be damning with faint praise.

Jim’s up next, and he needs to be told to look at the camera, which I guess could be the filmmaker’s way of trying to establish that he was something of a loner. After giving his name, he gives this horrible half smile, and I cringe in disgust. Why, oh way, did casting think Steve Guttenberg was a perfect fit for this role? You could torture me like in that graphic and only appropriate for adult audiences scene in Braveheart, and I’d still refuse to believe that Guttenberg was Craig, until the bitter end shouting, “Freedom!”

After Jim, Ken Morrow follows, and he gives his name so quietly that Patrick asks him to repeat it, which is a reasonably clever and relatively subtle way of showing how reserved Ken was. Kudos to the script writers here.

Buzz is up next, and all I can think is that at least he’s better looking than the guy who plays Jim Craig in this movie. His smile is a bit more smug and less kind than I would have imagined, but maybe that’s just me.

Les Auge follows Buzz, and, like OC, he’s chewing gum. It’s a gum-chewing pandemic. I hope that none of them gets attacked like Hugh Jessiman by their suddenly sentient gum when celebrating a goal. I mean, it’s a sure sign that you’re basically a total bust as a professional athlete when you can’t even celebrate a goal without some hilariously ungainly malfunction, and you don’t want to give Herb that sort of insight into your failings.

Next up is Rob McClanahan, who seems pretty regular and inoffensive, which is about all you can ask from this film at this point. Then we have Pav, who is totally blank for the camera, and that goes well with his hating-the-spotlight personality. Pav is followed by John Harrington, who seems normal though plumper than he looked in earlier shots of him. It must be the light…

We shift over to the rink, where some guys are performing a warm-up skate after having their pictures snapped. Les Auge skates up to Rizzo and introduces himself before remarking about how there isn’t much competition. In response, Rizzo observes that is a good thing because he’s still tired from the trip. Since Rizzo mentions jet lag, I’ll just point out that many of the boys who tried out for the ’80 Olympic team actually arrived in Colorado Springs many days in advance so that they could adapt to the higher altitude.

On that note, we’re back to Patrick taking a picture of a guy named Steve Thompson. I admit that unlike Les Auge, Cox, and Hughes, I don’t remember reading a word about this Thompson fellow in any of the books or articles I’ve studied about the Miracle on Ice, but it’s still interesting to have a face to go with one of the names that Herb will (spoiler alert) end up cutting in this movie. Thompson is followed by some other dude with the surname Parides that I’ve never read about either. It’s weird and vaguely sad how some names are utterly lost in the annals of hockey history.

After those two guys who are the merest footnotes of history in this movie, we have a dude who I have heard of: one Bill Baker, who gives a slight smile and nod at the camera. He’s pretty cute, even though he is apparently not Eric Strobel after all.

Following Bill, we have Mark Johnson, who has dark hair and white skin but other than that really does not look at all like Mark in terms of facial structure or eye color. He also has this arrogant expression on his face that isn’t at all suitable for Mark to be wearing. Why did the director allow this to happen?

When Patrick is done taking Mark’s photo, the scene shifts to focus on all the boys skating around the rink, and then zones in on the bleachers, where Patrick joins Herb, who is watching the warm-ups like a hawk, and asks, “Now what?”

Herb replies that Patrick took the words right out of his mouth, and Patrick looks aghast at his rudeness. I predict that Patrick will spend about half of his screen time going into cardiac arrest because of all the nasty things that emerge from Herb’s irritable lips. Proving me right, Herb, being his blithe self, continues, “What’s this—a hockey camp or a rehearsal for the ice companies?”

That’s actually a good bit of dialogue (or else my standards have just been lowered by the abysmal quality of the rest of the script, because I can’t even tell any more), and I have some time to appreciate it before Patrick responds with a chuckle, “Relax, Coach. There’s got to be twenty great ones in that line-up.”

Being a total boar, Herb counters, “Good. When you find out who they are, let me know.” Again, Patrick looks astonished by Herb’s terseness. I see this conversation is going nowhere, and maybe the emotionally stunted Herb actually senses the same thing, because he goes on, “Meanwhile, would you get them started? Sprints and everything. Work ‘em. Work ‘em hard.”

Patrick stands up and blows his whistle, but we are left to imagine the horrible paces the boys are put through, since the next scene transpires in Herb’s office, where we are looking down at a pile of the pictures Patrick has just taken on Herb’s desk.

Herb, who presumably was using the phone to attempt a call to his wife, puts it down, stating that she must have taken the kids to a movie. Switching from the personal to business, he scoops up the pile of pictures and begins to rifle through them, asking Patrick, who is seated in the chair opposite his desk, what on a scale of one to ten he thinks of Grazier.

Patrick estimates a nine, and then bumps it up to a nine-and-a-half, reasoning that Grazier is dependable in clutch situations.

Herb demands who would back Grazier up, and Patrick, looking pensive, says Johnson and Parides could. I’m assuming from the fact that Grazier’s and Parides’ names are linked with Johnson’s that these guys were seen as talented, top prospects in 1979, but since I’ve never heard of them, I’m guessing that they busted. That’s the interesting thing about prospect development. Sometimes a late round pick blossoms into a Chara, Pavelski, or Lundqvist, and a first overall pick can be a disappointment like Alexandre Daigle or Marc-Andre Fleury.

Referring to Parides and Johnson, Patrick says, “They’re both talented.”

Hurling down the pictures, Herb wants to know, “But are they tough? Will they stand up?”

My immediate reaction to this line is that the scriptwriters are trying to be all philosophical and whatnot, but are actually betraying the fact that they’ve never drawn up a hockey roster or even contemplated doing so for more than six seconds. Toughness probably isn’t within the top five qualities that coaches and GMs look for in a first line center. Things like stickhandling, skating speed, playmaking abilities, shooting strength, and overall hockey sense are all more important. You look for skill in a first line center, and toughness in a fourth line center, because, a fourth line goon considers it a great triumph to get a star center to drop the gloves and earn a coincidental penalty.

That’s my reaction if it’s physical toughness being questioned here. However, if it’s mental toughness, that’s much more valid a concern, but still a slippery slope, since the hockey world tends to overrate the toughness of players who are chirpy on the ice but then delve into full turtle mode if anyone actually raises a fist while underrating the bravery and endurance of quieter leaders like Steve Yzerman whom Scotty Bowman said had the highest pain threshold of any player he ever coached.

All I can say is we better not be headed down the path of “Mark Johnson was a talented player but a weak one,” because Mark Johnson got his shoulder speared in the Czechoslovakia game and returned to the line-up in the next one even though he had to have his arm in a weird sling under his equipment. It was like playoff hockey, and, on that note, tune in to NBC tomorrow to watch Jonathan Toews, who wears number nineteen just like Steve Yzerman, lead the Blackhawks against the Kings.