Krasinski, whom fans probably know best as
The Office's sardonic Jim, steps into Carter's cleats with ease. Who knew he could hold his own with the impossibly debonair Clooney (who, even when he's rumpled, still looks suave)?. Zellweger pursues success with a panther-like zeal and ably trades barbs with Clooney, and they do have chemistry, though she's no Nora to his Nick.
Clearly, Leatherheads is a fun way to pass the time. The art direction is fantastic, it makes football history compelling, and it brings up interesting, still-relevant points about how the press shapes public figures and how those public figures allow half-truths to go uncorrected. And kudos to Randy Newman for the lively soundtrack. But somewhere along the way, you get a sense of promise unfulfilled. A small twist in the end that saves the day feels rushed, and the witty banter, while engaging, isn't really all that clever. Though you expect the movie to wrap up nicely, as movies of this genre do, it becomes clear that Leatherheads is more of an homage than a true original.