Heroine is no cupcake and ‘The Blind Side’ is quite a treat

I don’t expect much from a movie -- just little things.

For instance, I don’t want to hear animals talk. One of the great things about animals is that they never talk. When animals talk in movies, I just tune out. To my mind, conversation never solved anything.

A good movie also should have some gratuitous violence. And some snappy human dialogue -- though not too much, three pages max.

I want the guy to get the girl or the girl to get the guy. It’s OK if the guy gets two girls. But their hair color should be different so nobody gets confused. I also want puppets, preferably marionettes. I want the world to end in a big fiery vortex.

Really, that’s all I want from a movie, a half-dozen fundamental things. Yet, you’d be amazed how often I come away disenchanted.

All the great minds here in Hollywood (or as I call it, “The ‘Wood”) and what do you end up with? Tripe. Sequels to tripe. Vampire tripe.

Then along comes “The Blind Side.”

This is a great movie, because it’s a sports movie and all movies should be sports movies (did I mention that?). Playing the real-life Leigh Anne Tuohy, Sandra Bullock screams all the way through it.

She’s got that raspy, nasal, Jersey girl thing going, and it’s very effective. Me, I like plucky women who yell a lot. After two hours, one thought kept springing to mind: “When is this Bullock going to take over the Clippers?”

See, Patton and Schwarzkopf were cupcakes compared to Bullock. You think Al Pacino gets wound up? You should see what Bullock does with sassy ghetto youth. She also packs heat, bullies bureaucrats and breaks into school administrators’ computers.

Seriously, if Tuohy ever takes over your PTA, run for cover. She’s a Christian with a ‘tude. Not for nothing will she remind you a little of Sarah Palin.

Of course, she gets results; bossy folks often do. She jangles when she walks, all car keys and blingy bracelets, the sound prison guards make when they’re mad. Once, Buford Pusser was the toughest lawman to take on the mean streets of the American South. Now it’s this BMW-driving home designer.

That’s progress, right there.

Another thing I like about movies is when privileged people help out us underprivileged people. You don’t see that much in real life, it’s so awkward and culturally complicated. So rich people prefer to leave that mostly to filmmakers.

Director John “Sign Here” Hancock does a bang-up job with this. It’s like a two-hour commercial for compassion. And we can always use more of that, at least now around the holidays.

In Bullock’s case, she takes in a 2,000-pound homeless youth, scolds him about his grammar, coaches him in football and -- in one of the greatest tough love moments ever -- threatens to cut off his joy stick if he misuses it in college.

Along the way, there is high-brow talk about “Great Expectations” and “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” Tim McGraw (Tug’s little boy) plays the passive millionaire husband. His character was a point guard in college and now owns “like, a million Taco Bells.” If ever I had a big screen hero, it is this dude. During the course of the movie, he went to work not once.

So as you may have gathered, this movie is Oscar material -- a new genre in fact: the chick-flick sports movie. I’d give it a B-plus. I had it as an A-minus till my kid fell asleep drooling on my shoulder. Couldn’t blame him. Like most movies, it runs 20 minutes too long -- mostly for some needlessly negative stuff about possible recruiting violations. As if that ever happens.

If you’re not into Bullock for whatever reason, at least go for Lou Holtz’s bravura performance -- part Pat O’Brien, part Elmer Fudd. He may be the first actor to get one of those Razzie Awards for playing himself.

One thing for sure, we’re going to be stuck/blessed with this real-life Tuohy for a while. I predict she will take over Oprah’s slot and eventually Dr. Phil’s (she’s got better hair and a deeper twang, which makes even very rude things come out kind of charming).

Yes, sports fans, Vince Lombardi is finally back. Just wait till you see how well he walks in heels.

chris.erskine@latimes.com

His “Man of the House” appears in Saturday’s Home section.