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Million Dollar Baby cries out for Oscar recognition. Three Oscar winners (among them two bona fide legends) in a story of triumph against all the odds involving struggle, the will to succeed and personal redemption. Many American critics have already decided that it is the year's best film, and while it will certainly play a part come Academy Awards time, it ultimately may prove just a little too saccharine to walk away with the top prizes. Certainly as far as British audiences are concerned, this is a film which may not travel across the water that well.
The story behind Clint Eastwood's 25th outing as director is as unlikely as the story portrayed in the film itself. Jerry Boyd was a writer who wrote a book of boxing short stories called Rope Burns, and after a life of being rejected by every single publishing house, he died only a month after hearing that Eastwood had signed up to make a film out of his work. Boyd spent years as a cut man to young boxers, the assistant in the corner who comes in to clean them up. He never cleaned up a fighter of note, and never contested a major fight.
Eastwood plays a character who mirrors Boyd in many ways. As Frankie Dunn, he is an ageing trainer whose proteges always leave him as soon as the big time beckons. Scraping a living running an old-fashioned gym, he inspires everyone who walks through its doors, even though he knows most of them are dreamers. He is assisted by Scrap (Morgan Freeman), himself a former boxer who similarly never scaled the heights he so craved. When Frankie's latest hope joins a new management team, it seems the only thing left to do is throw in the towel.
Suddenly a woman turns up at his gym. Maggie Fitzgerald (Swank) is fit, keen, and inept, but she idolises Frankie. She is self-confessed white trash and Frankie dismisses her. He won't train a woman. But Maggie refuses to leave. She trains day and night and ekes out a meagre living as a waitress. Inevitably Frankie begins to think again.
There are a lot of things that are inevitable about Million Dollar Baby, since the signs come thick and fast. It's old-fashioned stuff which seems deliberately to exist in a world of its own. There's really little doubt at any stage as to what is going to happen and its running time is full of longueurs. Eastwood gives Frankie a jaded note, Freeman delivers the sort of performance he could have sent in by post as the wise eyes and ears of the gym, while Swank knocks both of them out with a truly remarkable turn. If it weren't for Imelda Staunton in Vera Drake then she would be odds-on to triumph at the Oscars. It's easy to forget how good an actress Swank is given the paucity of her recent material (The Core, The Affair of the Necklace).
If the sweet core of the film may be too much for some to take, the boxing scenes will have fight fans storming the ring. Admittedly Swank convinces as a top puncher, but the fight sequences are below-par for a major film, with one climactic fight scene being little short of ridiculous. Another, when Frankie takes Maggie to London, will only make British audiences laugh. Eastwood showed with Mystic River that he is still at the top of his game as a great director and storyteller, but this is a slight affair which is unlikely to stand the test of time.
Paul Hurley