You’ll need to love two things to enjoy “Finnegan’s Foursome”: Golf and Edward Burns (“The Brothers McMullen”). As writer, director, producer, and star, Burns makes the assumption that the viewers’ interests reflect his — and in fairness, this is a great way to spend a couple of hours if they do.
If not, though, it’s about as much fun as watching any family you’ve never met play golf while you’re stuck on the sidelines.
The Finnegans are all about the game, primarily because it has always served as their steely patriarch’s overarching fixation. Jack (Ian McElhinney) is a rugged former pro who has little time for his two sons, unless they’re on a course. Every year, he gathers his clan for a family tournament, which he always wins. The eldest, a relaxed writer named Teddy (Brian d’Arcy James), looks forward to the event despite knowing he’s going to lose. His little brother Freddy (Burns) is not so easygoing: even in middle age, he’s still furious at his dad for a relationship that’s been built on competition and withholding.
Just as they’re about to start their latest tournament, Jack dies—but not without making one last demand of his sons. Instead of a traditional funeral, he’s left wishes for one last Finnegan competition, during which his ashes will be spread at four spots in his native Ireland. So Freddy, Teddy, Freddy’s son Frankie (Brian Muller) and Teddy’s daughter Marie (Erica Hernandez) pack their clubs and head to the Isle for a week of rivalry and reminiscence.
Burns’ Freddy, who carries a massive and perpetual chip on his shoulder, is so abrasive that he’s tough to be around if you’re not related to him. James, a quintuple Tony nominee, seems to realize that he’ll need to provide some essential balance; he gives us the most comfortable performance, and his experience and relaxed professionalism turn Teddy into the movie’s emotional core.
The other standout here is cinematographer Jeff Muhlstock, who perhaps understands the assignment best of all. While the characters – who do little more than bicker affectionately and golf obsessively — keep the storyline very insular, the stunning vistas feel welcoming and inclusive. He captures the coastal courses and impossibly gorgeous green(s) of Ireland so beautifully, he turns the film into a mini-vacation for us, too. (Kudos as well to musician Seamus Egan, whose lively and Irish-inflected compositions keep up the energy even as the pace flags.)
This likely would have been more fun for everyone if it had been edited into a tight 90 minutes, but at an indulgent two hours, it does feel like a personal passion project — and also, as Teddy’s wife suggests, an especially elaborate excuse to play a lot of golf in an unusually lovely location.
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