But The Fighter Still Remains.


Some unfinished business from earlier this month: David O’Russell’s worthwhile Massachusetts family drama by way of a boxing flick, The Fighter, never got its own long-form review here at GitM. Since I saw it awhile ago now — New Year’s Day, in fact — and since I already basically covered it in the top twenty of 2010 post (where it clocked in at #8), I’ll just let what I wrote there, reposted below, stand. (And for those of you who read this the first time around, my apologies — This is more just a placeholder, should I link to the film in the future.)

Suffice to say, I was pleasantly surprised by David O’Russell’s chronicle of the comeback of welterweight “Irish” Micky Ward, the pride of Lowell, Massachusetts. In fact, I had the opposite experience here that I had with The King’s Speech. There was a potentially interesting story told extremely conventionally, while this is a tried and tested sports movie formula — a boxer with one last shot at a title — that still felt fresh and invigorating.

True, the seven Ward sisters were a bit much — They were the only time this boxing movie veered toward the egregious cartoon rednecks of Million Dollar Baby. But otherwise, solid performances by Mark Wahlberg, Melissa Leo, Amy Adams and especially Christian Bale give this could’ve-been-by-the-numbers film a much-needed heart.

For a Pocket Full of Mumbles.

Mark Wahlberg coulda been a contender, if only brother Christian Bale would start acting professional, in the ridiculously plot-by-numbers trailer for David O’Russell’s The Fighter, also with Amy Adams. Good director, good cast, but this also looks schmaltzy as all Hell.

The Chess Event.

Spokesman Andreas Dilschneider, who is also one of the chess trainers for Berlin’s chess-boxing club, says the dual sport is primed to become ‘the biathlon of the 21st century.’” En garde…I’ll let you try my Wu-Tang style: Time peeks into the world of chess-boxing. “The matches work like this: competitors alternate between three-minute rounds of boxing and four-minute rounds of speed chess with one-minute breaks in between to get the gloves off and hunker down at the chess table. The winner is determined by knockout, checkmate, or referee decision.

Philly Soul.

The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.” Perhaps it was the beneficiary of low expectations…Still, Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky Balboa, however fundamentally formulaic at its core, proved a much more satisfying moviegoing experience than the first half of Monday’s double-feature, The Good Shepherd. I’ve never been much more than a casual Rocky fan: I was way too young to appreciate the first two, more nuanced movies when they came out, and have clearer childhood memories of Balboa trouncing cartoon boxing villains Clubber Lang (III) and Ivan Drago (IV) than I do of him going the distance against Apollo Creed. (Still, even when I was eleven, the Italian Stallion singlehandedly winning the Cold War in Rocky IV seemed cheesy, and Rocky V is, of course, best forgotten.)

Nevertheless, more a character study than an 80’s-style action flick, Rocky Balboa is — thankfully — a throwback to the early days of Philly’s finest, when the big lug spent more time just wooing the nerdy-cute gal at the pet store than he did wrestling Hulk Hogan and sorting out geopolitical wrongs. Here, we’re more often than not simply following a lion in — if not winter, than in really late fall — going about his day in the city he loves and searching for one more shining, meaningful moment before twilight beckons. And, I’m forced to admit: By the time Rocky gets his one last shot — the big bout that takes up the final third of the film — it would take a harder heart than mine not to be swept up somewhat by the ride.

As Rocky Balboa begins, we discover that the Italian Stallion has not only lost most of his money from previous films (Sorry, sports fans, Paulie’s ridiculous robot is seemingly no more) but also his heart and soul, Adrian, who has succumbed to cancer. Clearly still very aggrieved, Rocky spends his days wandering around he and Adrian’s old haunts with the still-vexatious Paulie (Burt Young), trying to establish a connection with his mildly prodigal son (Milo Ventimiglia, a.k.a. Heroes‘ Peter Petrelli), and recounting old war stories to bored patrons at his restaurant. Then, one day after reconnecting with Little Marie (Geraldine Hughes) from the first film (Spider Rico is kicking around too), Rocky gets a hankering to deal with his ghosts by fighting again. “Sometimes I feel like there’s this beast inside me,” he tells Paulie in one of the film’s more affecting monologues. “I’ve got stuff in the basement.” And, as it turns out, the money-hungry managers of the current champ — Mason “The Line” Dixon (Antonio Tarver) — are looking to improve their client’s public profile by setting up a friendly “sparring” exhibition with a still-popular has-been…

You can guess the rest (except perhaps the ending, which I won’t give away here.) So, yes, the film is both predictable and wildly improbable, but somehow, it kinda works. Perhaps it’s because Stallone here seems to emphasize Rocky, aged and bloody but still unbowed, as an exemplar of the Philadelphia spirit, an historic American city that’s taken its share of knocks in recent decades — from deindustrialization to those woeful sports teams — but still keeps on keepin’ on. Or perhaps it’s because Sly, looking more beaten-up, bloated, and wounded than we’re ever accustomed to seeing him, brings a measure of pathos to his tale of one last hurrah just by showing up. Rocky Balboa isn’t one for the ages or anything, but it is very good for what it is — a schmaltzy but well-written and enjoyable piece of uplift and a worthy last outing for one of cinema’s most popular and enduring pugilists. In a surprise upset, the sixth and final round goes to Stallone.

Punch-drunk poolboys & petrol-powered puzzlers.

In today’s trailer bin, nebbishy Paul Giamatti confronts water pixies and werewolves in the new trailer for M. Night Shyamalan’s Lady in the Water (after making two stinkers in a row, you’d think he take his name off the title card), over-the-hill Sylvester Stallone walks…very…slowly to the ring in a new clip from Rocky Balboa, a.k.a. Rocky VI (Note Paulie & hat), Pixar contributes further to our national oil dependency with another new trailer for Cars (ho-hum), and crossword puzzlers get their day in the sun in this first look from the documentary Word Play. (So that‘s Will Shortz.)

Taking the Rocky Road.

“‘Rocky Balboa’ is about everybody who feels they want to participate in the race of life, rather than be a bystander…You’re never too old to climb a mountain, if that’s your desire.” Sylvester Stallone returns for Rocky Balboa, a.k.a. Rocky VI. I guess what he’s trying to say is, if he can come back, and you can come back, everybody can come back! (Cue Gorby-lookalike clapping.)

Inflated Currency.

Hmmm. A million dollars sure doesn’t go as far as used to. (And you’d think with that kinda cash Clint could have invested in a few more lights around the set.) At any rate, I’m willing to bet I might have thought more of Million Dollar Baby if I had seen it before the hype machine kicked in (and before I knew the twist, since I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.) But, well, MDB was a harmless helping of manipulative schlock, I guess. But even if I hadn’t seen Aliens of the Deep just beforehand, this film would have come off as a woefully two-dimensional enterprise.

At this late date, you probably know the story. Grizzled archetypal trainer Clint Eastwood and his grizzled archetypal sidekick Morgan Freeman run a dark and dilapidated boxing facility, without benefit of loyal title contenders or fluorescent lighting. Into this duo’s endless Who’s More Grizzled repartee steps Hillary Swank, a plucky, gosh-darned-don’t-that-girl-have-heart boxer-wannabe from the wrong side of the tracks, who’s burdened with the scariest, goofiest redneck family this side of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. (And don’t even get me started on Cletus, or Forrest, or Danger, or whatever that gimpy kid’s name was.) Soon enough, plucky Swank has even managed to thaw the heart of frosty ole Clint, and together they make that long-awaited title run, until…ack!

Like I said, MDB was ok enough as a hammy diversion, but I’d say its emotional resonance wasn’t too far removed from the Touched By an Angel melodrama of last week’s The Jacket. It’s a by-the-numbers boxing movie that turns into a by-the numbers Lifetime movie-of-the-week. Sure, the acting is polished across the board, but I thought the characters were for the most part shallow and cartoonish. (In fact, Morgan Freeman is barely even playing a character — he’s a Shawshank voiceover tinged with a touch of Bagger Vance.) And the plot barely holds together — I’m sorry, but, Evander Holyfield’s ear notwithstanding, you’re just not going to get away with that many sucker punches in a title fight.

I’m probably being a bit too hard on this flick — it made for a reasonably engaging two hours, sure. Perhaps it even works as an homage to the Hollywood of yore — at times this felt like a Karl Malden vehicle from 50 years ago. But, simply put, this was in no way the best film of last year — I’ll take Eternal Sunshine, The Aviator, Sideways, The Incredibles and a host of others over MDB any day of the week and twice on Sunday. This isn’t even the best Clint film in recent years – Mystic River was much more well-realized, and obviously Unforgiven is head-and-shoulders above this drek. How MDB won the Oscar bout is beyond me…Call McCain — the fix was in.

The Great Black Hope.

Before the story of the Hurricane, there was another man the authorities came to blame…and he was the Champion of the World. Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson, Ken Burns’ new documentary on the much-maligned Progressive Era boxer, premieres this Monday and Tuesday on PBS.

Trailer Park Xmas.

Hello all…I finished up the end-of-term grading yesterday evening, at which point Berkeley and I started settling in to the christmas spirit down here at Murphy Home Base in Norfolk. Here’s hoping everyone out there is having a safe and merry holiday season, and that you get something better from Santa than Dubya’s warmed-over right-wing judges.

Also, if you’re looking for some trailers to tide you over, here’s Leggy & Liam battling freedom-hating infidels in Ridley Scott’s crusader pic Kingdom of Heaven, Russell Crowe trying to out-Seabiscuit Seabiscuit in Ron Howard’s Cinderella Man, a slew of A-listers vamping and vicing in the Robert Rodriguez version of Frank Miller’s Sin City, MTV Films butchering another needless remake in The Longest Yard, and creepy undead kids claiming yet another victim in Boogeyman. Enjoy, and happy holidays, y’all.(Aragorn pic via Fark.)