'Miracle'
Ice charade

ASK YOUR AVERAGE male if he cries during movies and you'll get a derisive snort as a reply. Ask him if he's ever shed tears during a sports film, however, and you're likely to be reluctantly regaled by tales of manly blubbering the first time he ever saw Rocky or Field of Dreams; even substandard genre entries like Disney's Rookie have reduced some gents to quivering, weeping hysterics (you know who you are). Though the latest Mouse Ears Inc. production's primary goal is to dramatize the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team's victory over the previously unbeatable USSR ice jockeys, make no mistake about it: Miracle is all about aiming for the heartstrings lurking underneath all those barrel chests. In fact, any modest pleasures derived from the stock underdog true story come from recognizing the familiar signposts along its well-worn path – the Ditka-esque coach (Kurt Russell) whose methods are eccentric but effective, the tortuous training montages, the kids who need to prove they've got what it takes, the inspirational speeches, and finally the against-the-odds climactic game that plays like tryouts for Valhalla. Director Gavin O'Connor (Tumbleweeds) has a knack for capturing the era's Northeastern blue-collar landscape, giving the story a concrete sense of place and time. But the movie's insistence on treating the event as if it were myth ludicrously pushes the proceedings into the stratosphere, starting with the sucking-in-the-'70s credit sequence and building toward the idea that this match was the only salve for a beleaguered nation (before Reaganomics gutted the country in earnest). That its blatant jingoism so readily invites contemporary parallels is nauseating, and despite its well-meaning attempts at milking tears, Miracle's blatant pandering for faux-patriotic cheerleading makes it sink like a lead puck. (David Fear)