Whole Bunch of Squares

Wordplay

Directed by Patrick Creadon

I am a severely crossword-challenged person. Al Sanders of Fort Collins, Colorado is not. He can whip through a New York Times crossword in two minutes, two seconds-with a documentary film crew looking on. His habit demands seven puzzles a week. No mere hobbyist, Al's a competitor, whose word-freaking climaxes annually at the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament; he's been a top-three finalist several times but never the champion. When Al recalls those cruel near-victories during the documentary Wordplay, his eyes begin to water. Yours might too. Creadon's buoyant documentary celebrates the nationwide culture and community of cruciverbalists, from brilliant constructors (led by the Times' Puzzle Editor/God, Will Shortz) to hardcore players and celebrity dabblers (Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, Ken Burns and Mike Mussina of the Yankees are all shown). As it leads up to the 2005 tourney at the Stamford Marriot in Connecticut, this silent, solitary, meditative ritual ("a combination of logic and rage," Stewart says) becomes a fast-paced spectator sport.

The tournament itself isn't a ruthless Olympian smackdown, but an only slightly freakish party, complete with singalongs and crossword-inspired outfits. As one participant notes of the 28 year-old event, "it's like finding a lost tribe!" Still, some are fiercer than others. Tyler Hinman, a brash wunderkind college student with a real shot at becoming the youngest champ ever, is Eve Harriman in a baseball cap. No wonder former boy wonder Trip Payne abandoned the "puzzle scene" of NYC for a gentler life in Florida with his boyfriend. (Trip still sees anagrams wherever he goes: "intercoastal" equals "altercations.")

More anecdotal and meandering than Spellbound, Wordplay lacks that classic spelling-bee doc's narrative arc and character-driven depth. Creadon's festive, laudatory approach occasionally ignores what pathologies may lie beneath this all-consuming obsession. The competition itself, with lots of scribbling, raised hands and bathroom breaks, sometimes has the dramatic tension of the SATs. The celebs on-hand help legitimize the phenomenon, but their interviews drag with philosophizing, particularly Ken Burns ("We live, commute and work in boxes and grids?").

Regardless, Creadon's enthusiasm is infectious, even for remedial folks (like me). With a novel visual style, he invites viewers to enter and solve puzzles through animated onscreen grids, which fill up with the missing words as the clock ticks. Although I started to grasp how puzzle-constructors build their works with a brilliant knack for themes, architecture and symmetry, I still failed horribly. Shortz points out that the best crossworders aren't necessarily writers, editors or trivia buffs but mathematicians, scientists and musicians, who possess a strong, spatial sense of logic. Legendary seven-time champ, Jon Delfin, for instance, makes a living as a piano player at Broadway auditions. He draws an elegant, somehow wistful comparison between unfamiliar sheet music and an unconquered crossword. Shortz, who earned a degree in Enigmatology (the study of puzzles) at Indiana University, fills the role of MC/Cultural Liaison for this not-so-underground milieu with nerdy, unsnarky charisma. Just for him, maybe I'll conquer my fears and embark on a new Sunday tradition. Make that Monday.