Champions

I’ve seen the "stubborn coach finds his soul" trope so many times it practically has its own aisle at my local metaphorical grocery store. From The Bad News Bears to The Mighty Ducks, the DNA of the sports underdog story is coded into our collective cinematic consciousness. Yet, walking into Bobby Farrelly’s Champions, I found myself wondering if there was any room left for a story about a hotheaded minor-league basketball coach sentenced to community service. I watched this on my laptop while a neighbor’s leaf blower was doing its best to drown out the dialogue, and honestly, the film’s sheer earnestness managed to win the volume war.

In the current landscape of 2023, where mid-budget comedies are an endangered species often shuffled off to streaming services before they can even buy a tub of popcorn, Champions felt like a defiant throwback. It’s a movie that knows exactly how predictable it is and decides to have a beer and enjoy the ride anyway.

The Farrelly Evolution

For decades, the name Farrelly was synonymous with the kind of "gross-out" humor that defined the late 90s. But here, Bobby Farrelly—stepping out for his solo directorial debut without brother Peter—shows a surprising amount of restraint. Don't get me wrong, there’s still a joke involving a character vomiting during a high-stakes moment, but the tone has shifted. It’s less about the "shock" and more about a genuine, sometimes messy, affection for the characters.

Woody Harrelson plays Marcus, a coach whose ego is significantly larger than his win-loss record. Woody Harrelson is the only actor alive who can make being a total jerk feel like a hug from a cactus. He brings that specific brand of "Harrelson charm"—that squinty-eyed, slightly frantic energy—to a role that could have easily been a cardboard cutout. When he’s ordered to coach "The Friends," a basketball team of players with intellectual disabilities, the movie avoids the trap of making Marcus a saint overnight. He’s frustrated, he’s awkward, and he’s frequently the butt of the joke, which is exactly where he needs to be.

Woody and the MVP of Sunny

While Marcus provides the framework, the heartbeat of the movie belongs to Kaitlin Olson, who plays Alex, the sister of one of the players and Marcus’s eventual (and reluctant) love interest. Kaitlin Olson is a godsend here. Most of us know her as the chaotic Sweet Dee from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but in Champions, she proves she can anchor a rom-com subplot without losing her sharp, comedic edge. Her chemistry with Harrelson is lived-in and refreshingly adult; they feel like two people who have actually survived their twenties and thirties and are just trying to navigate the weirdness of their forties.

Modern studio comedies often feel like they were written by a committee of people who have never actually laughed in public, but the scenes between Harrelson and Olson feel improvised and alive. There’s a scene in a Shakespeare-themed van that had me genuinely laughing, not because of a punchline, but because of the weird, organic friction between the two of them.

The Power of Being Seen

The most significant thing about Champions—and the part that places it firmly in our contemporary era of filmmaking—is the casting of the team. In an industry that is finally (albeit slowly) realizing that representation isn't just a buzzword but a creative necessity, the decision to cast ten actors with intellectual disabilities to play The Friends is what saves the film from being a Hallmark cliché.

Madison Tevlin, who plays Cosentino, is an absolute scene-stealer. She has a "no-nonsense" attitude that cuts through Marcus’s posturing better than any referee’s whistle ever could. The film doesn't treat the players as props for Marcus’s redemption; they have their own lives, their own jokes, and their own agency. This is where the screenplay by Mark Rizzo (based on the 2018 Spanish film Campeones) succeeds. It moves the conversation away from "isn't it nice that he's helping them" toward "look at how much better his life is because they're in it."

A Quiet Theatrical Victory

Released during a time when the box office was dominated by massive franchises and $200 million spectacles, Champions’ modest $9 million opening weekend might look like a footnote. But for a mid-budget comedy-drama, it represented a small victory for theatrical releases. It’s the kind of movie I miss seeing in a crowded room—the kind where you can hear the collective sniffles and chuckles of strangers.

It isn't reinventing the wheel. It uses the same training montages and "big game" structures we’ve seen since the 1980s. But in an era of CGI de-aging and virtual production volumes, there’s something incredibly grounding about watching a group of people just play ball in a gym. It’s a film about the human condition that actually remembers humans are supposed to be at the center of the frame.

Ultimately, Champions is a comfort watch that earns its sentimentality. It doesn't shy away from the reality that life is often a series of small losses and unexpected technical fouls, but it insists that the company you keep matters more than the score on the board. If you’re looking for a movie that feels like a warm sweatshirt on a rainy Tuesday, this is it. It might not be a "game changer" in the grand history of cinema, but it’s a solid, soulful reminder that sometimes the simplest stories are the ones we need to hear the most.