25 years after overlooked release, ‘Rudy’ remains ultimate underdog story
H ALFTIME of the “Holy War” hit — and filming could begin.
When Notre Dame ran into its locker room with a lead over Boston College, dozens of gold helmets, and navy blue jerseys, emerged from the stadium tunnel to shoot the climactic, final sequences of “Rudy.”
The Irish marching band had donated roughly seven minutes of their halftime routine so the movie could recreate the moments that made it worthy of being retold. The on-f ield choreography had been meticulously planned and practiced. Notre Dame Stadium was full. CGI wasn’t in the budget. There would be no second chance.
Vince Vaughn threw a touchdown pass. Peter Rausch began the “Ru-dy” chant. Sean Astin got the sack, and was lifted onto his teammates’ shoulders in celebration. Then, reality resumed. “We overran our time a little bit, and our players were running off the field, but I was slow, and I was walking back to the tunnel, and here came Lou Holtz up the sideline, and he was not a happy camper,” said veteran actor Chelcie Ross, who played coach Dan Devine. “We were on his football field, and they had business to take care of. He was shouting and pointing in my direction … something like get off the field.
“To this day, I think that Lou Holtz hates me.”
To this day, few figures in Notre Dame history are as well-known as the real-life walk-on — Daniel “Rudy” Ruettiger — whose on-field career lasted only 27 seconds. To this day, few sports films have inspired as many people as the drama which reinforced the beauty of belief, and the virtues of perseverance.
A quarter-century since being released, “Rudy” still routinely plays on cable; its clips still shown on Jumbotrons in the final minutes of close games.
For its 25th anniversary, the film was rereleased in more than 600 theaters and will soon be screened at Los Angeles’ Shrine Auditorium, with an 80-piece orchestra playing Jerry Goldsmith’s iconic score.
Though screenwriter Angelo Pizzo and director David Anspaugh had previously collaborated on the beloved “Hoosiers,” the college friends from Indiana never envisioned the connection so much of the audience would have with an unknown kid who fulfilled his dream of attending — and playing football — at Notre Dame.
“The life it’s had is beyond anything we ever comprehended,” Anspaugh said. “But most people have theses dreams, and unfortunately they get shot down. They didn’t have to be Notre Dame fans, or even sports fans. It spoke to people on another level.”
Appropriately, its journey began with little hope.
The test scores were low. The reviews were uneven. The film finished in f ifthplace in its first weekend at the box office — well-behind “The Beverly Hillbillies” — and made just $22.8 million domestically, against a $12 million budget.
“The first set of screenings didn’t go great,” Pizzo said. “It wouldn’t have surprised me if everyone hated it … Most of the criticism was it was too corny or sentimental, and the first few years after it came out were the most brutal. A Sports I l l ustrated article completely decimated it.
“We couldn’t get much traction at the box office, so it wasn’t considered a success, and I thought it would cycle out, and become part of the dustbin of movie history, a failed attempt. Then, it became what we called in those days a Blockbuster success. More people found the movie at Blockbuster rental stores, and the size of the shelf started to expand, and it hung in there for a long time. Slowly, but surely, the movie gained a weird momentum.”
“NO” HAD no meaning. It is how Ruettiger fulfilled his dream. It is why the film exists. After Ruettiger graduated from Notre Dame in 1976, he spent several years selling insurance, while simultaneously pitching his life story to movie producers and writers.
Every response was the same. Even Notre Dame had no interest, last allowing filming on its campus for 1940’s “Knute Rockne, All American,” starring Ronald Reagan as “the Gipper.”
“The athletic department made me sign that I wouldn’t talk about the movie on campus or talk to anyone in the program about it or I would be barred from the university,” Ruettiger said. “I put the movie on pause, but I didn’t give up on it.”
Eventually, Ruettiger tracked down the writer of a movie that inspired him, but Pizzo wanted no part. Pizzo, a Bloomington, Ind., native hated Notre Dame and wanted to work on a different genre, having been pitched countless sports projects since writing the legendary basketball script.
“I mostly ignored him and didn’t return his calls, but he was the person in the movie and he was fundamentally incapable of hearing the word no,” Pizzo said. “Part of my resistance to getting involved was practical. I didn’t think that movie had a chance in hell of ever getting sold to a studio.”
After a few years passed, Anspaugh learned that Columbia Pictures president Frank Price was still bothered about being turned down by Notre Dame and the director was now certain the film could get greenlit. Pizzo wasn’t convinced.
“I expected a cursory, brief meeting,” Pizzo said. “But Frank Price’s reaction was something I’ve never seen before. He leaned over the desk and said, ‘I can’t wait to see this movie.’
“I almost did a double-take. What that meant was, ‘S--t, I have to write this now.’ ”
Permission to f ilm on Notre Dame’s campus came after then-president Arnold Beauchamp watched “Hoosiers,” but the football program wouldn’t welcome Hollywood to South Bend.
“They hated it. They thought it would be a distraction, and they didn’t allow us to use certain facilities, and made challenges greater,” Pizzo said. “They were baffled why a movie’s made about this unathletic little schlub at the end of the bench. If they’re gonna make a movie about someone, why wouldn’t it be someone from the pantheon? They were afraid it wouldn’t underscore the glory and valor and tradition, and exalted vision of Notre Dame football.”
Now, the university uses the film as a recruiting tool. The DVD is gifted in fundraising efforts. Freshman orientation features a screening of the movie the campus bemoaned being made.
“The student body wasn’t in favor of us being there, the wealthy old alums didn’t take kindly to us,” Anspaugh said. “It’s a miracle we were able to even shoot it.”
BRENDAN Fraser was the favorite. Chris O’Donnell was close behind. Matt Damon’s audition nearly put him in the mix.
But they were looked at as leading men. They weren’t everymen.
“The studio was lobbying hard for Brendan Fraser, and I said, ‘ Have you read the script? Rudy’s five-foot nothing. A hundred and nothing. That’s not Brendan Fraser. It’s never gonna work,’ ” Anspaugh said. “His stature was important. Rudy had to be a small guy in this land of giants.”
Enter 5-foot-7, 21-year-old Sean Astin.
“Sean was perfect. He had a lot of the same energy and can-do spirit and belief as Rudy,” Pizzo said. “I love Rudy. He’s an awesome guy, but he pissed a lot of people off because of his relentlessness. People thought he was obnoxious. … But I’ve never met a person in my life who didn’t love Sean Astin. There was an element of sweetness to his mission that was lacking in Rudy.”
Astin’s toughness became clear, too, following countless takes in which the underdog is knocked around by players outweighing him by more than 100 pounds.
“We had a stunt double for Sean, but he probably took 95 percent of the hits,” Anspaugh said. “I look back on it now and I don’t know what I was thinking. We would’ve had to pull the plug on the movie if he had a bad injury. But he was like the character, he would just bounce up off the ground and say, ‘Let’s do it again.’” D EVINE was angered. Joe Montana was annoyed.
Even though Devine was alerted by Pizzo that artistic licenses would be taken — and agreed to be portrayed as an obstacle to help the film based on his friend — he seethed at the fictional scene in which player after player placed their jersey on the coach’s desk, volunteering to sacrifice their spot so Rudy could play. Montana remembered Ruettiger’s sack, but the former Irish quarterback described the senior being carried more akin to “playing around.”
Much was altered. Characters — like Rudy’s older brother, and the groundskeeper — were constructed from combinations of real-life supporters and cynics. Much was missing. Ruettiger joined the Navy after high school and was a boxer before joining the team.
But Astin also read the acceptance letter from Notre Dame on the same bench as Ruettiger and lined up on the same spot of the famed field.
“I say 98 percent of the journey is accurate,” said Ruettiger, who became a motivational speaker. “It’s about the journey. I had to get there academically. I had to get their economically. I got beat up. How many guys would have quit along the way? You don’t quit just because the odds are against you. You don’t have to be an All-American. You just have to have character and courage, and I take that message very seriously.
“It’s a timeless message. The movie connects to the fibers of what we all go through. You don’t connect to the extraordinary person anymore. You can’t connect to Joe Montana or LeBron James. How are you gonna do that? It’s just not realistic.” T HE crowd was informed that filming would happen at halftime. When the cameras started rolling, the crew would provide their cues.
But as Holtz prepared the Irish for the second half, Anspaugh was told the PA system to address the fans wasn’t working. A backup was in the press box, six minutes away.
“It wasn’t enough time, so we did it and hoped the people would react like on the day that it really happened,” Anspaugh said. “When our players started chanting ‘Ru-dy,’ the students started, and then the whole stadium joined. I’ve talked to people who were at that game, and they said it was just like that. They didn’t know who it was, or why they were chanting it.”
Ross, who played Devine, recalls missing a mark and falling behind out of the tunnel — “It’s loud, and the adrenaline level is high, and somebody slaps me on the shoulders. I turn around, and it’s Sean Astin, and he said, ‘Let’s get ‘em coach. Let’s go. Let’s go.’ … I started off as fast as I could go, but you could see that gap. I thought, ‘Oh, god, I’ve blown it already.’ ” — but nearly every moment matched the script, and was captured by NFL Films.
The back-up shooting date was the following week’s game against Penn State. It snowed. None of the footage would’ve matched.
“If anything went wrong, we wouldn’t have had a movie,” Pizzo said. “We had to have a little magic. Somebody said we were in the ‘ God Loop.’ Everything that could’ve gone wrong, went right. Everything just fell into place.”
Twenty-five years later, the film’s place remains secure. It has been all its creators could have wanted. It has been so much more.
“When I was in Israel [two weeks ago], I talked to a Palestinian dentist and he told me how much he loved that movie and that it inspired him, and he grew up in Nazareth!” Pizzo said. “This movie has really worked in mysterious, and surprising ways. And after 25 years, what’s shocking to David and I is that it’s never gone away.”