The Fighter

All fun and games till someone loses an eye

Boxing seems to be the perfect sport for the movies.  Whilst football in its variations has provided the dramatic backdrop for films from Jerry Maguire to The Damned United to (ahem) The Blind Side,  nothing encapsulates the rise of the underdog quite like a spot of pugilism.  This isn’t team sport – this is one man against poverty/circumstance/prejudice.  A woman who pushes him/supports him/begs him to give it up. And a fight to end all fights in the final reel.  The majority of boxing movies seem to be based on true stories, thus giving even more pathos to the inevitable challenges our hero (or heroine – let’s not forget the excellent Million Dollar Baby) must overcome in the face of adversity.  Add to this fascinating documentaries like the recent Tyson, where the misunderstood “monster” speaks softly and (mostly) articulately about all manner of subjects, and it’s little wonder there is a whole industry within an industry.

At first glance, The Fighter risked being an also-ran in this oeuvre, just another rise-to-the-top tale about someone most of us have never heard of: Micky Ward, a fighter in the mid-80s whose brother Dickie Eklund once knocked-out Sugar Ray Leonard, before descending into a white trash life of crack addiction.  Micky has many obstacles to face if he is to reach the heights he aspires to, with his big brother/trainer in prison, an overbearing mother/manager (the brilliant Melissa Leo from Frozen River and soon to be seen in Conviction) and conflict with his family over his burgeoning relationship with barmaid/college-dropout Charlene (Amy Adams – prettier than Micky’s 6 ugly sisters, but eschewing Hollywood glamour for a healthy dose of social realism). 

However, while the trajectory proves to be familiar, there are several things that make this movie a stand-out in its genre.  Director David O. Russell (from the wonderful Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees) concentrates on the terrific characters bequeathed by the dysfunctional Ward-Eklund family, and gives his actors the roles of their lives.  Mark Wahlberg is fine as Micky, a likeable, decent sort of fellow, but Christian Bale steals every scene as the off-the-rails Dickie.  When you see footage during the end credits of the two brothers in recent times, you realise Bale’s performance is horrifying real and not at all hyperbolised.  Adams is good, Leo is superb, and the supporting cast adds colour to every interaction. 

Russell adds panache by shooting the documentary scenes and boxing bouts on grainy video, conjuring up an authenticity which mostly matches the occasional use of genuine footage.  There are a few nice swirling shots à la Goodfellas, and despite my being a huge boxing fan, the fight scenes were mercifully minimal, serving only to advance the story rather than simply set the character up in a “this is what he does” way.  That said, the fights are well-shot such that there were genuine edge-of-seat moments for me, and the audience knows enough by then to watch out for the “head-body-head-body” shot that we know might win our hero his title.

The Fighter marks itself out as focusing on good acting, the moral dilemmas inherent in family dynamics, and a well-told story, without hitting you between the eyes to make you appreciate it.

It didn’t hurt a bit, but is it really a Best Picture?

Well done, Kathryn Bigelow.

I loved Point Break back in the day (and even on DVD last week, nearly 20 years since I first saw it in the cinema and felt completely exhilarated). And I thought she did a superb job with the under-appreciated Strange Days (what a brilliant and ghastly concept! Angela Bassett an inspiration! and has Tom Sizemore ever been more sinister?? – this was pre-Heat, of course…). As much as I hate to play the “Go women directors!” angle, she sure can produce a good action flick – no question about it.

So then she was suddenly nominated for an Iraq war film, best director and best picture Oscars among others, up against her ex-husband, the polarising James Cameron. He was up for Avatar, as we know all too well, and the inevitable taking of sides began. I hadn’t seen The Hurt Locker (we only just got it here in the last couple of weeks) but I knew Avatar sure as heck wasn’t deserving of Best Picture, and so (playing the “Go women directors!” angle) I was happy to support Bigelow, sight unseen. After all, since when does the Academy reward truly excellent films or superlative film-making anyway? not often of late…

Well, I’ve seen it now. And let’s put aside the Best Picture and Director wins for the time being. The Hurt Locker is a good, well-made film – it’s gripping, gritty, well-acted, the script is largely simple and non-sentimental, the characterisation is sufficiently engaging that you do care about whether the bomb disposal team live or die, and there are some pretty exciting cameos from Guy Pearce and Ralph Fiennes (the latter eliciting a *gasp* of recognition and a frisson of excitement from this viewer – mopey Ralph, all tanned, tough and Alpha-Maled up!!).

Jeremy Renner is our main guy throughout, a slightly caricatured devil-may-care kinda soldier Staff Sergeant William James (well, that’s my 2 favourite boys’ names right there).  Will clearly relishes his role as the most successful member of the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) squad – he’s defused 873 bombs in his short career – and his attitude to the task at hand makes for incredibly exciting viewing.  Leave the fear and apprehension to the others in the team (a particularly nice performance from the little-known Brian Geraghty) – Will is seemingly fearless, preferring to discard the special armoured suit in favour of working in shirt sleeves once he establishes there is a high likelihood of failure anyway, so he’d rather die comfortable.

The set-pieces are all superbly crafted. The photography juxtaposes close-ups of the actual bombs, so that we understand the intricacies of removing wires and detonators, with wide shots that bring home the context of each suspenseful situation – local Iraqis watch from their balconies with curiosity rather than fear, people go about their commerce in the streets, while the EOD team stands tense, alert, mindful of the potentially devastating outcome.  To its credit, the film doesn’t overdo the jerky, handheld camerawork now emblematic of the Bourne school, yet the movement still brings you right into the action. Needless to say, the trick is in the editing – and to that end, every deployment keeps you gripped until Will James sits back in the truck and lights a cigarette, signalling all is well.

The film’s one difficulty is its ending. I sympathise somewhat with the writer – short of blowing up your protagonist and leaving us at a military funeral, how to round off over 2 hours of such drama? The answer is: drag us from the dusty heat of Iraq and throw us into Will’s claustrophobic rainy world “back home” with his wife and new baby. He struggles to reconcile the endless aisles of breakfast cereal with what he’s experienced at war, and following a slightly cringy and disappointingly banal monologue to his infant son, we see Will re-deployed to the Middle East, patently happy to be back doing what gives him purpose.

But Best Picture? Annoyingly, the Academy upped the shortlist to 10 films this year, not really leading the charge for separating wheat from chaff, but there you go. I was just so glad Avatar (in all its technical splendour, but laden with a rubbish script, story, characterisation, and all the other things that should really a Best Picture maketh) didn’t win. And given The Blind Side was also a nominee, clearly we weren’t shooting for the stars in 2009. The Hurt Locker is not quite Best Picture material in the way that No Country for Old Men, The English Patient and (my favourite) Silence of the Lambs were over the last 2 decades. But in the context of previous winning films, it’s actually pretty in keeping with the Academy’s taste. And I can’t honestly put one of the other 9 nominees as my preferred choice, so I guess I’ll just have to enjoy the film for its own merits, and hope for a more exciting, worthy Oscar race next March.

How you should spend your precious movie time

Most of my friends and colleagues don’t get to the cinema very much – clearly they don’t prioritise it quite like I do, but heck, they have families and real lives, while I just spend my time watching other people’s (well, that’s not quite true).

So here are some reviews in brief to help people decide what to see.  I’ll get more critical on the ones I feel strongly about, in another post.

Boy

Let’s start with this much-heralded New Zealand offering.  From the creator of Eagle vs Shark and the Oscar-nominated short film Two Cars, One Night, this is a charming piece of Kiwiana set in the mid-1980s in the small (make that “tiny”) locale of Waihau Bay .  Alamein (named after his dad, but nicknamed “Boy”) lives with his grandmother and several smaller siblings, dreaming of the absent father he believes to be at least as heroic and cool as his other hero, Michael Jackson.  Boy’s father is, in fact, just about to be released from a stint in prison, and his return to the community and the family’s lives brings upheaval as well as amusement for us viewers.  I didn’t think this was as amazing as Peter Calder (he of the NZ Herald) and other local reviewers have found it, but it’s enjoyable and sweet, full of nostalgia and some belly laughs, and definitely worth seeing.

This Way of Life

Another NZ film, this is simply mesmerizing and an unconditional must-see.  No, really.  This Way of Life is a documentary tracking the Karena family through a story that is so remarkable, you couldn’t make it up.  Two parents and six children live happily in relative poverty, making ends meet by working on the land, farming pigs and riding wild horses, and living a truly wholesome “good” life.  Their life is simple, and beautiful for it.  But as with real life, there is drama along the way, and some of it must have seemed a Godsend to the film-makers, who can’t possibly have anticipated what transpired.  The interviews are heartfelt and touching, and you cannot help but leave the cinema with a new perspective on life.  Highly recommended.

Nowhere Boy

The first feature by British artist Sam Taylor-Wood, Nowhere Boy tells the story of the young John Lennon, growing up in Liverpool with his aunt Mimi, and being reacquainted with his troubled mother Julia after many years. It’s a real coming-of-age film, with superb performances from the charismatic lead (19 year old Aaron Johnson – who is now engaged to the 43 year old director, who is pregnant with their child) as well as the outstanding Kristin Scott Thomas as Mimi, and Ann-Marie Duff as Julia.  The film is a pleasure on every level (the 1960s are evoked brilliantly through music, costume and production design), and despite the fact we know what becomes of our young hero, watching the path to Beatlemania unfold (including his first meeting with Paul McCartney at a school fete) is exciting and satisfying.

Green Zone

From the director (Paul Greengrass) and star (Matt Damon) of the Bourne trilogy, I had high hopes for this latest slice of Iraq war reality.  Damon plays a US soldier who starts to believe that the hunt for WMD (Weapons of Mass Destruction, in case the last few years have wiped your memory of the term…) may be a politically-motivated ruse.  His quest for the truth brings him into dealings with the usual suspects: a disgruntled CIA veteran, a shifty politician, an astute and talented journalist, and an indignant Iraqi prepared to sacrifice everything for this country.  The tone is very Bourne, the camerawork dodging back and forth to make us feel we’re in the thick of a war zone (or the Green Zone itself, which is the International Zone in central Baghdad , replete with swimming pools and bars enjoyed by the
international armed forces and p0liticos).  Unfortunately the story is not exciting, nor particularly new, and though the performances are solid there is little to engage even a war-thriller buff such as myself.  You could probably save it for DVD.

The Boys are Back

Set in the Australian outback, brought to you by the director of Shine, and starring the terrific British actor Clive Owen, this film is much better than its dreadful title suggests.  As a widowed father struggling to raise his sons while he gets to grips himself with the sudden loss of his wife, Owen is typically charismatic, and the performances of his Australian and English children are a delight.  Owen decides to start saying “yes” to everything, and mayhem ensues which alternates between exhilarating freedom and predictable disaster.  The script and story are realistic and well-told by the actors, hitting many a nail on the head in its portrayal of this challenging family set-up, and the pain and beauty of grief.

Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese is a legend (we share the same birthday – date, not year…) and one of my two favourite directors.  I am always desperate to see his next creation.  However, the trailer for this suggested it might be a horror – uncharacteristic of the man known for his gangster flicks (the superlative Goodfellas and Casino rating high on my list) as well as dark, soul-searching pieces such as Bringing Out the Dead, and romantic period pieces like The Age of Innocence.  So, I figured, let’s see what he’s capable of with this genre.  Thankfully Shutter Island turned out to be less schlock horror, more psychological thriller.  Leonardo DiCaprio plays Federal Marshall Teddy Daniels, sent to an island-based psychiatric hospital to investigate a missing patient.  With a dark past of his own that reveals itself to us through amazingly vibrant and increasingly disturbing flashbacks, it is soon clear that all is not as it seems.  There are excellent supporting performances from Patricia Clarkson, Ben Kingsley and Michelle Williams, and the lighting and photography (deliberately and heavily reminiscent of Hitchcock) are simply stunning.  The intricate plot may require some water-cooler discussion afterwards, however…

Crazy Heart

Jeff Bridges finally won his Oscar for his central performance of Bad Blake (when asked his real name, the grizzled country singer says that will only appear on his tombstone, and until then he’ll just stay “Bad”).  Bad Blake has a shining career and a series of marriages behind him, and we find him drunk and destitute, being offered the supporting set at concerts for the far more successful Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), a young musician who was once Bad’s protégé.  Encouraged to write more songs and go on tour, Bad falls for a younger woman and starts to get his life on track – but of course this is country music, and country ain’t about happy endings. There is soul-searching, struggle, heartache and redemption, and though the story isn’t maybe particularly novel, it’s Bridge’s performance that keeps us with his heart
throughout the film.

The Blind Side

“Poor old” Sandra Bullock (as I’ve taken to calling her) won her first Oscar for this film, days before her husband was revealed to be a cheating ratbag.  Suffice to say, when she filmed this piece of all-American, predictable, by-numbers fare, they were still “happily married” – and so she produced a pretty good, enjoyable performance, but actually (dare I say it) not Oscar-worthy.  In a rather Erin Brockovich-like tale, Bullock plays real-life Leigh Anne Tuohey, a privileged Republican living in a beautiful house in Memphis with her loving husband and 2 bright children, who takes a disadvantaged black teenager into her family home, and gives him the life she believes he deserves.  So far, so lovely.  Wouldn’t we all do the same!  Big Mike becomes a fixture in the family, is pressed to take up football (the American kind – ie. lots of ploughing into your opponent and violently blocking their play up the field) and, once his grades are good enough (thanks to a rather weak cameo from Kathy Bates), he’ll be allowed to apply for football scholarships to University.  It’s all enjoyable enough, but completely unsurprising – except for when Bullock’s feisty “hockey-mom” takes on the dangerous black people in the projects (uttering the immortal line “No, you listen to me, bitch – I’m in a prayer group with the DA, I’m member of the NRA, and I’m always packing”), the woman in the welfare office, the football coach – and gets her own way.  This is a Tuesday night DVD rental, rather than a Friday night Cinema Trip.  But if you beg to differ (as the Academy obviously did), let me know.

The Brothers Bloom

An understated, charming and slightly quirky film about two con-artist brothers (Adrien Brody and Mark Ruffalo) who take on a naïve, charming and slightly quirky heiress (Rachel Weisz), with complicated results.  Shot in Serbia, Montenegro, Romania and Prague , full of clever tricks and engaging set-ups, this film is a pleasure to watch, principally because of the three main performances.  There are a few odd moments that don’t quite work (Robbie Coltrane’s French accented investigator, for starters) but on the whole this is definitely worth 2 hours of your time.