The Underdog, the Comedy Act, the Blockbuster: If This Year’s World Cup Teams Were Movies

The quintessential American story: A big personality with big dreams who thinks they can make it on chutzpah and conviction alone. The talent might be there (topping Group D counts for something), but so is an inflated sense of self-importance — and a pretty flagrant disregard for its neighbors (co-hosts Mexico and Canada). They’ve managed to drum up some buzz through solid performances, though soccer — and ping pong — are not the nation’s favorite sports. And the real achievement is scoring a ticket to play overseas: 19 out of 26 in the USA World Cup squad are signed to international clubs.

France is the (over?)hyped blockbuster of this World Cup. Like a certain highly-anticipated Christopher Nolan epic, only superlatives will do. Les Blues sailed into the tournament as conquering heroes with an attacking force — Kylian Mbappe, Ousmane Dembele, Bradley Barcola, Michael Olise, and Desire Doue — akin to mythic heroes, more gods than men. This team is too big to fail. Leaving with anything less than the trophy will seem as humiliating a defeat as The Odyssey getting snubbed at the Oscars.

They became the great disruptor of football with their late (and controversial) ‘70s World Cup win, just as A New Hope hit cinemas. Argentina soon took total control of the South American soccer scene (akin to what George Lucas did in the sci-fi space), and that Maradona momentum carried them to World Cup victory in the ‘80s too, while The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi solidified Star Wars as a box office behemoth. Failure trailed the team through the 90s and 00s, like Star Wars I, II and III, which — we can admit — really bungled the execution. Their return to glory finally came via Lionel Messi, who remains the great spark of an otherwise okay team — kind of like Andor and whatever Disney is trying to do with the rest of the franchise.

Regarded as one of the greatest teams of the 20th century, a Pelé-led Brazil dominated through the 60s, just as The Sound of Music debuted and became the hit movie of the decade. But this is a team that has never quite managed to improve upon or change its classic style, and, like Sound of Music, 90 minutes with this lot feels like you’re watching something a little outdated. It’s not unlike a Second City revival show. The entire world can’t deny Brazil’s charm: a colorful, vivacious national team that has always understood the power of music — Doe, Ray, Ney-mar, Sew, La, Tea, Doe? (You can have that one, Brazilians) — and a good rollick. They drew up the blueprint for football, and that old-school flair still wins them the hearts of neutrals around the world today.

The Spanish national team rejuvenated the sport, as Obsession has with cinema, through its seamless style of play and cool composure on the global stage. After decades of underachievement, the late ‘00s brought with it a newfound regard for the horror genre (Paranormal Activity, Insidious, The Orphan), just as Spain triumphed — and terrified — with their formidable wins at the 2008 and 2012 Euros, and the 2010 World Cup. That team rewrote the meaning of the word possession, and Spain comes to this World Cup with an obscenely young superstar in Lamine Yamal, who, like Curry Barker, is undaunted by the pressure on his shoulders.

Yes, Bill Murray’s Bob Harris is Cristiano Ronaldo in this situation: A washed-up, aging star who has swapped critical acclaim for cash (Ronaldo has played for Saudi Arabian club Al-Nassr since 2023), just like Bob, who travels to Japan to promote a whiskey brand. He still possesses undeniable charisma and is beloved by the fawning lackeys surrounding him (a moment for Ronaldo’s oft-forgotten teammates, please), though this seems to mean nothing to him; he is in a trance — tortured, even — by his place in the world. The question of greatness and legacy casts a long shadow.

Perhaps not quite Alpha Papa, but the entire character of Alan Partridge is simply a glorious metaphor for England’s national men’s team: A bit of a narcissist who believes in the sanctity of the sport ( or broadcasting) and has all the ingredients for success, but screws it up every single time — but somehow always manages to bounce back. Such is their blind optimism heading into every single tournament that you actually start to root for them, though cringe is guaranteed. They’re embarrassed in the presence of women (see: England Women’s Euros success), and their fans are most likely to be easily overexcited white men. Steve Coogan’s Partridge remains the pinnacle of character comedy and a genuinely brilliant cultural export out of England, just like their soccer team.