Southpaw
Don't Go! Not enough of a big hitter.
Fallen boxer seeks redemption.
There is something immediately compelling about a glorified human cock fight that plays out in front of millions of people. Boxers' personalities resonate in their styles, so we watch to see if their flaws will reveal themselves at the right or wrong moment. After the "ding ding" of the twelfth and final round, will the sharp thud of fist on skull precede the booming blow of flesh heaping itself onto canvas; blood and sweat flaying the ring floor? Or will the head skip left and the counter-punch ping true, like the head of a driver launching through a golf ball? This intrigue (in spite of invariably similar storylines) makes boxing films ripe for captivating character explorations and heavy-hitting performances. The collected Oscar #noms speak for themselves - Rocky (10 nominations), Raging Bull (8), Million Dollar Baby (7), The Fighter (6), Cinderella Man (3), Ali (2) and The Hurricane (1) all demonstrate the effectiveness of repeatedly punching people in the head. Rocky V? Perhaps less so.
Southpaw, directed by Training Day's Antoine Fuqua hopes to join the more note-worthy group of films. Originally written for Eminem as a "metaphor of his life", when the rapper stepped away to concentrate on music, Jake Gyllenhaal tapped in to play the lead - Billy Hope, a boy-dun-good-orphan turned Light Heavyweight Champion of the World. Everything is going swimmingly until Hope's wife, Maureen (Rachel McAdams, About Time) is killed. Our fighter hits a downward spiral, losing his championship belts to a second rate challenger; giving up his home and all of his cash; and reluctantly relinquishing his daughter to social services. To put his life back together and reclaim his daughter, Hope takes himself to the simplicity of a community gym, appointing the straight-talking Tick Willis (Forrest Whittaker, The Last King of Scotland) as his coach.
It is a typical boxer's story - when life sends a man the knockout punch, can he pull himself up onto the ropes and back into the fight? Like a gym stacked with dumbbells, there are plenty of heavy themes to strain on in Southpaw; particularly Hope's battle between his violent instincts and re-acquiring the love of his daughter. Gyllenhaal makes a decent fist of it with a performance that digs into the depths of his emotional range. His physical acting is also impressive - between his physique and technique, he very much looks like a legitimate heavyweight champion. Along with the cinematography, this makes the boxing scenes stylish, brutal and realistic.
But in spite of Jake's good efforts, Billy Hope's character is terminally under-developed. By the time we are asked to support him through his redemptive phase, Gyllenhaal is left shadow-boxing for our favour and only a few of his emotive punches actually land. Too much of the two hour film is spent establishing Hope's fame, success and demise. Attempting to portray such a broad tale is a problem, since neither the fall nor the rise is given enough focus to gain sufficient traction. There are glimpses of depth, but for the most part, the film merely skirts across the surface of the aching turmoil below. This is salvaged in part by Whittaker's performance - he is by far the most engaging and well-composed character on screen. But even his grizzly exploits are not enough to coach this film into the Oscar-worthy category that it could - and as a serious boxing movie, should - belong. 50 Cent's mumbling but reasonable performance as Hope's promoter and Rita Ora's weird appearance as some kind of drug-addled, mascara strewn chicken are also to no avail.
So don't go. Boxing fans will enjoy the sporting exposition, but outside of that, although it puts up a good fight, Southpaw is a few sit ups short of a six pack (regardless of the inevitable, pumping training montage before the big fight). Instead, get your Rocky box set out.
But in spite of Jake's good efforts, Billy Hope's character is terminally under-developed. By the time we are asked to support him through his redemptive phase, Gyllenhaal is left shadow-boxing for our favour and only a few of his emotive punches actually land. Too much of the two hour film is spent establishing Hope's fame, success and demise. Attempting to portray such a broad tale is a problem, since neither the fall nor the rise is given enough focus to gain sufficient traction. There are glimpses of depth, but for the most part, the film merely skirts across the surface of the aching turmoil below. This is salvaged in part by Whittaker's performance - he is by far the most engaging and well-composed character on screen. But even his grizzly exploits are not enough to coach this film into the Oscar-worthy category that it could - and as a serious boxing movie, should - belong. 50 Cent's mumbling but reasonable performance as Hope's promoter and Rita Ora's weird appearance as some kind of drug-addled, mascara strewn chicken are also to no avail.
So don't go. Boxing fans will enjoy the sporting exposition, but outside of that, although it puts up a good fight, Southpaw is a few sit ups short of a six pack (regardless of the inevitable, pumping training montage before the big fight). Instead, get your Rocky box set out.
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