Perhaps the most notable thing about the second collaboration between Russell Crowe and Ron Howard is the discrepancy between its reception by both critics and the general audience (great) and its box office take (inadequate). I blame the title, which may have confused audiences on what sort of movie it would be. When Damon Runyon gave real-life prizefighter Jim Braddock the nickname in reference to his rags-to-possible-riches situation, it had previously been a known insult. Who wants to see a girly boxer?
I wasn't sure what I'd get out of it myself. Sports mean little to me, and boxing is one of my least favorite. Even highly acclaimed movies about boxers (which somehow have become disproportionate in the sports film genre) rarely entertain me much. Sports films in general are prone to exaggerating the seriousness of the climactic game, in keeping with major fans. But CM has a pretty good excuse.
To my surprise, the story begins well past Braddock's physical prime. He'll still take any opportunity to keep fighting, because (1) he hasn't fared well in the Great Depression; (2) he has a wife (Renee Zellweger) and three kids, whom he'd rather not send to live with richer relatives; and (3) the only other work he can get is unsteady manual labor. Adding to the importance of his victories is a growing identification among the poor: Even people who don't normally care about boxing find his rise inspiring.
Enter Max Baer, the final contender, whose accidental body count makes many fear for Braddock's very life. This is where the movie reportedly veers most from the truth -- and, I'd say, quality -- by making Baer out to be quite nasty (the opposite problem from American Sniper). Baer had indeed killed two opponents, but his son, among other witnesses, insists he felt too bad to boast about it. I don't know that he was a trash-talking, irritable womanizer either. Clearly, Pitch Perfect 2 isn't alone in needless vilification of the primary opponent. Come on, Howard; Rocky made Apollo Creed respectable enough as boxers go, and he wasn't even real.
It's been suggested that Crowe, who dutifully shed more than 50 pounds for the role, didn't garner an Oscar nomination simply because the Academy prefers biographical depictions of people who were brilliant and/or mentally disordered, not dumb jocks. Of course, his John Nash in A Beautiful Mind failed to take home the gold, so I'm not sure how much he'd hoped to add to his Gladiator glory. Maybe the voters had simply gotten tired of him.
One supporting actor did get a nomination: Paul Giamatti as Braddock's manager, Joe Gould. As usual for Giamatti roles, Gould expresses a lot of stress. And as usual, he's a treat to watch. Giamatti won numerous foreign awards, while Crowe won only in his homeland of Australia.
I should mention a few things about the artistry. There's a mild tint throughout, almost evocative of gold, but just as likely to signify the low color we might associate with the early '30s. Some of the matches slip in and out of a first-person perspective. Thanks to real pro boxers, the hits come across well -- too well, in fact; Crowe suffered a lot from insufficiently pulled punches. Hope you're not too sympathetic to stand those scenes.
I have yet to love any Howard-directed piece, but CM ranks among his better efforts. It helps assure me that the subgenre can still capture my interest from time to time. In a sense, that makes the theme of the underdog's triumph all the more relevant.
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