No Molds Broken By ‘Southpaw’ (FILM REVIEW)

[rating=5.00]

Assume, for the moment, you know nothing about Southpaw. That’s probably a pretty safe bet, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have found yourself here, but roll with me for a moment. You know nothing about Southpaw, and I tell you, “It’s a boxing movie.” Using this as your jumping off point, I now want you to formulate, in your mind, what you think the plot of the movie is and how it unfolds. Without even hearing your answer, I’m confident there’s a pretty good chance you’re 100% right. Southpaw is a by the numbers boxing flick that suffers under the weight of all the boxing movies that came before it. It’s as predictable as Thanksgiving dinner, and not nearly as satisfying.

Like Thanksgiving, the recipe is tried and true. Take one boxer, add a hard boiled life, stir things up, preheat oven to melodramatic, and bake until done (about two hours). The classic recipes are classics for a reason, after all, so there’s no real need to change things up too much.

The boxer in this particular version of the dish is Billy “The Great” Hope (Jake Gyllenhaal, who’s buffed up considerably for the role), a fighter at the top of his game who gets derailed following the murder of his wife (Rachel McAdams). His life spirals out following her death, eventually culminating in losing custody of his daughter Leila (Oona Laurence) and being suspended from boxing. After being dropped by his manager (Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson) and left by all the sycophants and hangers on he’d surrounded himself with, Billy is forced to recenter himself under the tutelage of an unlikely trainer, Tick Willis (Forest Whitaker), in order to stage his comeback.

As a familiar recipe, Southpaw is basically palatable, if somewhat uninspired. The script from Kurt Sutter (Sons of Anarchy) is as basic as you can get, even despite some simple twists on the formula. This is somewhat of a shame considering the issues the movie very nearly touched upon but ultimately neglected in favor of yet another series of training montages and come to Jesus speeches, the kind which are oh so prevalent in movies such as this. The father daughter angle, for example, could have—arguable should have—been fleshed out to a greater degree, and perhaps even made focal point, rather than used as a MacGuffin. But Sutter isn’t a writer known for his subtlety or for toying with expectations. You get what you pay for with Sutter, and it’s usually as surface as possible.

If you can get past the predictable plot, what Southpaw really has to offer is a series of powerful performances. The entire cast punches far outside Sutter’s class, delivering one knock out after another as the story unfolds. Gyllenhaal, always a fine actor, has never been better, despite the problems that plague the script and story. Even 50 Cent is surprising in his role as the shady performer who values nothing above the power of money. The young Miss Laurence nearly steals the show from all involved, setting herself up for what will hopefully be a long and fruitful career as she grows older.

None of this is at all surprising, considering director Antoine Fuqua is a master at pulling the best from his performers. While the film isn’t nearly as good or interesting his previous effort, last year’s The Equalizer, Fuqua does manage to capture the frenetic intensity that exists inside the boxing ring, and he sets the tone well as Billy’s life spins further and further off the ropes.

Overall, Southpaw works, I guess. Especially if you’re into this sort of movie. Be warned though, Raging Bull or Rocky it ain’t. There’s no new ground laid and if the movie feels familiar it’s because you’ve seen it a thousand times before. That’s not necessarily a bad thing by any means, but the hope surrounding this movie appears to be little more than hype and that’s too bad.

Southpaw is in theaters now.

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