Kiss Shots off the Eight Ball

By Richard Schickel

Where does reality end and fictional metaphor begin? Here is the movies' coolest old pro, Paul Newman, reprising one of his best and most famous roles; here is a hot young newcomer, Tom Cruise, staking his claim to authentic stardom in the best part he has yet had. At issue is possession of the movie in which they co-star, The Color of Money.

And what are they playing? Why, Newman is once again Fast Eddie Felson (aka the Hustler in Robert Rossen's pungently atmospheric 1961 classic), now resting on his legendary status among pool players; Cruise is Vincent, a wacko pretender to Eddie's former throne. Ultimately, one knows, art should imitate the players' situation: these men should cross cues to determine sovereignty over pool's dingy domain.

Indeed, the movie ends with the old guy and the Young Turk, teacher and pupil, father figure and surrogate son (call them what you will) facing off in a national tournament. But what is lovely about The Color of Money is that the filmmakers are not interested in providing a clear winner here, either in the Oscar sweepstakes or in the contest for the audience's affections. They feel that it is enough to explore these two characters and a situation that is rich in melodrama and comic misunderstanding.

They have judged their material well. Fast Eddie is not a man going gentle into his sunset years. His shrewdness has been tempered but not dulled by time, and now he is in need of a workout. The first time Eddie sees Vincent and his girlfriend (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, fascinating as a young woman who wants to be as tough as she talks), he senses they can provide a challenge.

And how! The lad's talent may remind Eddie of his old self, but if Vincent is a natural nine-ball artist, his personality is strictly that of an adolescent eight ball. Not for him the dour reserve and cunning calculation of the traditional pool player, setting up his opponents for a hustle. He likes to announce his presence at the table with a thunder break. When he is on a hot streak, he boogies around the baize as if he were starring in a music video. To him, guile is a synonym for cowardice, and patience the deadliest of virtues. There is something funny about his knothead exuberance and something unsettling and dangerous about it too.

Can Eddie tame Vincent's spirit and polish his gifts, make him the sort of man on whom he can safely place a side bet? Not really. Well surely then, when Eddie starts training to go back into competition again, he will get a chance to teach Vincent some lessons in respect for elders. No again. We are not on Rocky's side of the street, but in Martin Scorsese country, where bent character, not sentiment, shapes destiny, and the best the struggling human spirit can hope for is a split decision.

This may be hard ground for the audience that loves to cheer the lump out of its throat at the end of a movie. But for actors, it is the high ground. There is a ferocity in Cruise's flakiness that he has not previously had a chance to tap. That, in turn, gives Newman something to grapple with. There is a sort of contained rage in his work that he has never found before, and it carries him beyond the bounds of image, the movie beyond the bounds of genre. --By Richard Schickel