Cinderella Man
Sports movies are not my cup of tea, nor do I have a particular affinity for watching grown men beat each other to pulp. That said, I don’t know how the Venice Film Festival audience of Cinderella Man had the energy left at the end to stand for a fifteen-minute ovation; by the credits, I was exhausted. I became so wound up that I cried at least the last third, ducked, weaved and winced in the fight scenes, and jumped every time the bell was struck. In other words, it’s not half bad.
The fairytale fellow of the title is James J. Braddock (Russell Crowe), a young boxer poised on the edge of greatness when the Great Depression hits, emptying his pockets, stomach and fighting ability. Braddock, as so many others of the day, is thus forced to scrape a living through dock work (a lá On The Waterfront) to feed his wife (Renée Zellweger) and three kids. Here, to his credit, director Ron Howard shows just enough of the Depression to garner sympathy and understanding for what Braddock faces, without smothering the viewer in (pardon the pun) depression or schmaltz. Zellweger, despite my initial misgivings, does quite well as the stand-by-her-man type; it’s nice to have the love-interests married for a change. The other main players of note are the always superb Paul Giamatti as Braddock’s manager, and Craig Bierko as Braddock’s last opponent of the film, an arrogant pig who you wouldn’t mind punching several times yourself.
Not that there is any lack of punching in the film already. Considering the plot, it would be ludicrous not to expect lots of fight scenes… but once you know the characters, and the damage they’re doing, it becomes rather intense viewing. Two older ladies beside me kept looking away and ‘ooh-ing’ uncomfortably, and at several points the entire cinema audibly winced. The violence is not so much graphic as prolonged, which will prove an issue with some people.
Braddock was something like America’s version of Phar Lap; the people’s hero of the Depression, although this man was much more of a long shot. It is a very good story and very effectively executed; despite running almost 2½ hours it failed to drag. A good slice of the credit has to be Crowe’s; say what you like about him, the bloke can act. Unless the Academy baulks at honouring two boxing flicks in a row, I wouldn’t be that surprised to see Cinderella Man up for a little gold man or two next year.
Emily Cock
