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Describing a film as polished wouldn't ordinarily be considered a criticism, but when the film is the true-life tale of the rugged Depression era boxer Jim Braddock, something a little grimier is more in keeping. Directed by Ron Howard, Cinderella Man is consummately made, boasting another powerful performance from Russell Crowe as Braddock, but its slick veneer doesn't conceal the fact that underneath it's rather vapid.
Howard is an accomplished if conservative director. His work, while entertaining, could never be considered bold or edgy. You know what you're going to get. There have been so many memorable boxing films that to try and add to their number requires a fresh perspective, one that Cinderella Man fails to provide. Set against the backdrop of America's Great Depression, Braddock's rollercoaster ride from success to abject poverty and back again is an extraordinary and inspirational story. It's one that's guaranteed to stir emotions with almost any rendition. Simply telling the facts is moving enough, which is what essentially Cinderella Man does, but by doing so it fails to go any deeper.
The film spends nearly two and half hours establishing Braddock's credentials as a true American hero, a man with unyielding integrity, humility and courage who is devoted to his wife and family. What it fails to address is any hint of the weakness or failing that, unless he's a divine spirit or fictional character, he surely possessed. Even in the midst of his darkest times, he is a model of virtue. This image appears at odds with the primitive and brutish nature of a boxer nicknamed 'The Bulldog of Bergen'.
Cinderella Man focuses on the period from 1928 to 1935, beginning with Braddock as a successful fighter living in a nice house and blissfully married to Mae (Renee Zellweger). After breaking his hand, his fortunes, like those of his country, spiral downhill rapidly. The next we see of him, it's 1933 and he's living in a slum with Mae and their three young kids. He's reduced to casual work at the docks and the occasional fight until finally his boxing license is revoked following a pitiful performance. When their electricity is cut off, Mae turns to God but Braddock has lost faith. "I'm all prayed out," he admits before swallowing his pride and turning to welfare for subsistence.
The good thing about hitting rock bottom is there's only one place to go. For Braddock the ascent begins when his longtime manager Joe Gould (the always excellent Paul Giamatti) gets him a fight against an upcoming prospect, Corn Griffin, for whom the ageing Braddock is supposed to be but a stepping-stone to success. But Braddock, who has never been stopped, hasn't read the script and duly defeats Griffin, thus launching a comeback that leads him on a path to a title shot against the overwhelming favourite, the lethal Max Baer (Craig Bierko).
Bathed in the warm, muted tones of the thirties, Cinderella Man possesses a lush, rich look, one that is in stark contrast with the times it's depicting. The bloody, punishing realism of the fight sequences are effective in conveying Braddock's grim determination and certainly didn't the flashbacks to echo the point. The ring is the one place where is able to truly vent his frustration with a world that has been so cruel to him and, more importantly, his family.
There are few actors who immerse themselves so completely in their roles as Crowe. He is the raw, visceral embodiment of Braddock. His authenticity only serves to illuminate Zellweger's faux emotions which, when uttering lines like "You are the champion of my heart" are plastered all over her squinty face.
Cinderella Man is precisely the kind of slick, well made film whose overwrought integrity and luminous pedigree will have its name uttered during Oscar conversations, but while Crowe is worthy of such plaudits, the film itself lacks sufficient punch to truly make it a contender.
Kevin Murphy