Dear Ladies and Gentleman,
Sprinkled with the magic of Paulie Malignaggi, Scotty Olson, Michael Carbajal, Joe Hipp, Tommy Hearns, and Mickey Ward. The guts the glory of Rocky, The Fighter, Raging Bull and Bloodsport.
Typified with the primordial rage of fire, blood, ice. Here comes a film that does not offer apology. The peak and rock bottom lifestyle of championship boxing. Where they seize your mansion and your entourage leaves at the flip of a switch. Where Mike Tyson is cascaded in flashbulbs on the red carpet like the shell of a lion for his one man show. Tyson is still touring the world to get out of debt when he was the highest paid athlete in the 1980's. Don King charged him $5,000.00 for towels in his corner. When I saw Mike in reality in Hollywood for his one man show he looked like a wounded lion. A deep sadness came from his eyes on the red carpet. Yet when I watched him on the television carpet as a small boy with my father I never had seen a higher athletic peak before or since. Boxing is all or nothing.
The summer movie award goes to Antoine Fuqua's Southpaw because it captures just that. Jake Gylenhall pulls out a tour de-force performance. His chiseled boxer's body is not super-hero chiseled but boxing chiseled. Forest Whitaker gives one of the best performances since Panic Room as a trainer he digs deep into the logic of boxing. Rachel Mcadams hot off of True Detective 2 kills it as his wife.
The peaks and valleys of boxing is what Fuqua masterfully achieves.
Getting into the hunger and the decadence are well done by the Rocky franchise. The poverty and the royalty of men who are not that bright. Yet are given their moments to stand like gladiators in the arena and be crowned champs. Only done with the help of great trainers or in my life a heroic father.
