The best boxing movies are never really about boxing. They are about people struggling with inner turmoil or desperate circumstances, hoping for that magical chance to go toe to toe with their demons and change their lives once and for all. The new, inexplicably titled Jake Gyllenhaal movie Southpaw—Gyllenhaal’s character is not a lefty and spoiler: a singular left-handed upper-cut does not make one a southpaw—tries to pull off this formula, but it just doesn’t have the punch of a good fight flick.
Gyllenhaal plays Billy Hope, the light-heavyweight champion of the world. After his latest fight, his wife Maureen (Rachel McAdams) wants him to retire in order to protect his own health and spend more time with his daughter. Following a charity event, Billy’s rival, who is demanding a fight and a shot at the title, provokes Billy into a scuffle that leads to the accidental shooting death of Maureen. To make matters worse, Billy is facing financial troubles as it seems his fortune has largely been squandered. He is so distraught that he loses his next fight and finds himself suspended from boxing. Unable to cope with the loss of wife and his livelihood, he crashes his car after being highly intoxicated and having a firearm in his possession. He loses his daughter to Child Protective Services, moves into a rundown apartment, and must find his edge once again with the help of a new trainer (Forest Whitaker) to earn back both his daughter and his title.
Southpaw has the emotional subtlety of a Mike Tyson right hook. Director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day) throws everything at his protagonist—death of a spouse, loss of a child, financial ruin, betrayal by friends—pleading with the audience to care about his tragedy. “Look at how horrible his life is!” Fuqua seems to be shouting. “Care about him, care about him, care about him!”
But there’s just not enough to care about. Aside from some underdeveloped backstories of growing up “in the system” of Child Protective Services, we are never really given a real reason to care for Billy and his family. We don’t really know much about him. We never see him in other moral dilemmas or see him acting like a real person. He’s always a broken guy trying to be rich and successful again. We are left only rooting for Billy because he’s the champ. So we want to see him win. Not much of an arc there.
Whitaker plays the wise, older black guy mentor right out of the movie trope playbook. He even has the same cloudy eye as Morgan Freeman in Million Dollar Baby. Did Fuqua think no one would notice? Unfortunately, Whitaker’s grizzled trainer character is the most interesting part of the film, and he doesn’t appear until an hour in.
Gyllenhaal does a respectable job of looking like a boxer, as he has traded his gaunt stress case roles in the mediocre Prisoners and the excellent Nightcrawler for a bulky bruiser with a perpetually swollen eye. His “street” dialect drifts in and out and his mumbled speech feels misplaced at times, but he does the best he can with what little character development he is given. We can only wish McAdams could have also been given more to work with.
Southpaw seems to fall into the trap of working really hard at looking like a boxing movie—shaky camera work, shady promoters, Gyllenhaal’s abs, ring girls’ butts, oozing blood—rather than spending the effort of trying to tell a good story that just happens to include boxing. Rocky has charm, love, and an innocent sensibility. Cinderella Man has historical gravity and James Braddock’s nobility. Million Dollar Baby has ethical resonance. Warrior has the emotional complexities of a broken family, as does The Fighter. These are films in which characters and relationships pack the real punch. Fighting is purposefully secondary. Heart is what makes them powerful.
For athletes, it’s often the heart that makes a champion. The same goes for films. Southpaw may not be just another bum from the neighborhood, but it’s an average contender at best.
Grade: C
Gyllenhaal plays Billy Hope, the light-heavyweight champion of the world. After his latest fight, his wife Maureen (Rachel McAdams) wants him to retire in order to protect his own health and spend more time with his daughter. Following a charity event, Billy’s rival, who is demanding a fight and a shot at the title, provokes Billy into a scuffle that leads to the accidental shooting death of Maureen. To make matters worse, Billy is facing financial troubles as it seems his fortune has largely been squandered. He is so distraught that he loses his next fight and finds himself suspended from boxing. Unable to cope with the loss of wife and his livelihood, he crashes his car after being highly intoxicated and having a firearm in his possession. He loses his daughter to Child Protective Services, moves into a rundown apartment, and must find his edge once again with the help of a new trainer (Forest Whitaker) to earn back both his daughter and his title.
Southpaw has the emotional subtlety of a Mike Tyson right hook. Director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day) throws everything at his protagonist—death of a spouse, loss of a child, financial ruin, betrayal by friends—pleading with the audience to care about his tragedy. “Look at how horrible his life is!” Fuqua seems to be shouting. “Care about him, care about him, care about him!”
But there’s just not enough to care about. Aside from some underdeveloped backstories of growing up “in the system” of Child Protective Services, we are never really given a real reason to care for Billy and his family. We don’t really know much about him. We never see him in other moral dilemmas or see him acting like a real person. He’s always a broken guy trying to be rich and successful again. We are left only rooting for Billy because he’s the champ. So we want to see him win. Not much of an arc there.
Whitaker plays the wise, older black guy mentor right out of the movie trope playbook. He even has the same cloudy eye as Morgan Freeman in Million Dollar Baby. Did Fuqua think no one would notice? Unfortunately, Whitaker’s grizzled trainer character is the most interesting part of the film, and he doesn’t appear until an hour in.
Gyllenhaal does a respectable job of looking like a boxer, as he has traded his gaunt stress case roles in the mediocre Prisoners and the excellent Nightcrawler for a bulky bruiser with a perpetually swollen eye. His “street” dialect drifts in and out and his mumbled speech feels misplaced at times, but he does the best he can with what little character development he is given. We can only wish McAdams could have also been given more to work with.
Southpaw seems to fall into the trap of working really hard at looking like a boxing movie—shaky camera work, shady promoters, Gyllenhaal’s abs, ring girls’ butts, oozing blood—rather than spending the effort of trying to tell a good story that just happens to include boxing. Rocky has charm, love, and an innocent sensibility. Cinderella Man has historical gravity and James Braddock’s nobility. Million Dollar Baby has ethical resonance. Warrior has the emotional complexities of a broken family, as does The Fighter. These are films in which characters and relationships pack the real punch. Fighting is purposefully secondary. Heart is what makes them powerful.
For athletes, it’s often the heart that makes a champion. The same goes for films. Southpaw may not be just another bum from the neighborhood, but it’s an average contender at best.
Grade: C