Ron Howard's Cinderella Man

[Chris Knipp]

RON HOWARD'S CINDERELLA MAN: A REVIEW

BY CHRIS KNIPP

Exemplary mediocrity ain't such a bad thing

I have considered myself an opponent of Ron Howard's approach to filmmaking ever since I saw Beautiful Mind and found it manipulative, fake, and driven by false romantic assumptions about genius and madness. Worse yet, there was the sheer skill and conviction, the demonstrated ability to make millions lap up what Howard dealt out and call it a great movie. Nonetheless I thought this might be a better one and it is -- at least in the sense of being a well made conventional boxing picture -- though I don't see quite why we need another one so soon after Million Dollar Baby -- and in the sense of having engaged my attention and, occasionally, my emotions, without leaving me seething with rage. I may have to modify my anti-Howard position, especially since I now realize I've seen only four of Howard's 28 directorial efforts. With that limited exposure, I can't, strictly speaking, have an educated opinion about his work as a whole. I have some educated guesses -- following the principle of "You need not eat all of an egg to know that it is bad," modified to read, "You need not eat all of an egg to know that it is mediocre" (see below). But I'm becoming ambivalent. Mediocrity means striking a kind of balance. After all, the original Latin for "the golden mean" was "aurea mediocritas."

Cinderella Man -- the phrase is one that was bandied about by contemporary journalists chronicling the triumphal concluding phase of James Braddock's seven-year period of boxing failure, Depression hard times, and meteoric rise to the heavyweight championship -- is a conventional underdog success story, but it's arguably as well done as such a little epic of feel-good courage could be at this questionable time in American history. Not surprisingly, the cast had to be headed up by a New Zealander. The movie's steeped in period flavor which only rarely feels fake: there's a bit too much artificial snow, and the period cars as usual are too shiny, but the clothes are good and the people look right. Russell Crowe himself has a face that fits very well into the sallow, downtrodden look of the Depression. I love the fleshy Irish boxing commissioner: I didn't know faces of such wonderfully glossy period smugness still existed on living actors' bodies: he's like a big, fleshier, venial FDR. Russell Crowe as Braddock and Paul Giamatti as his trainer (the character being an amalgam of the actual manager and trainer) are impeccable. Or not very peccable. Giamatti is odd, thinner-voiced and more delicate than you'd expect a denizen of the ring to be, but that in itself makes one inclined to think him more like the real thing than any usual movie version. And one just wants Giamatti, who has himself risen meteorically through American Splendor and Sideways, to show us he can play somebody neither whiney nor weird. Renée Zellweger, whom Hollywood loves to see as the plucky little lady, delivers the only slightly nauseating lines in the piece in her conventional role as Mrs. Braddock, but at least this isn't another of her embarrassing efforts to be elegant or busty. As the flashy villain Max Baer, who must be brought down, Craig Bierko makes the transition from grinning playboy to scowling mauler with surprising ease.

In looks this is meant to evoke the black and white movie, in color. Its sweaty conflicts may have more in common with Raging Bull than Ali. But this movie isn't about a life, it's about a Depression hero, and the important scenes are of Braddock's family and work struggles, his pitiful decommissioning after a failed fight with a broken hand, entered only because of financial desperation; his struggle to find work on the docks and keep his family together with the gas and electricity cut off. Most of his history before is skipped over, and his life after is filled in only in concluding titles. What matters is the honesty, pride, and goodness of the man, teaching his boy you can't steal a sausage even when you're starving, returning all his public assistance money when he's been allowed to fight again and wins a big purse, never insulting a rival. It's also central that he took the championship from the brutal but glamorous Baer, in a moment that crystallizes his identity as Cinderella Man -- as the Depression poor's comeback kid, a boxer whose personal story gives hope to the masses. The scene when he walks out to the ring to be met by 35,000 silent, presumably adoring, fans is one of the most effective of Howard's usual numerous efforts to put a lump in the throat. A snappier moment is when Braddock's sent to dine in a posh hotel by the commissioner just prior to the fight with Baer, and Baer comes in in evening clothes with diamond-studded dames in tow. He insults Braddock and Mrs. B. throws a glass of water in his face. "You have your wife doing your fighting for you now!" Baer quips. "Isn't she somethin'?" he rejoins. The effort to contrast flashy style with modest integrity is quite effective.

Another good -- and visually memorable -- scene comes when Mrs. Braddock comes to berate manager/trainer Gold for getting her husband back into boxing, and discovers him sitting with his wife in their elegant apartment -- almost completely devoid of furniture, the last pieces just having sold yesterday: he too is a Depression victim. From a World of Interiors viewpoint at least this is classy filmmaking, though Mrs. Gold's little homily, something about all the men feeling to blame for their failures, "but it's just the times," is another slightly nauseating moment.

I can't say really where Cinderella Man takes off from or transcends the conventions of the boxing movie. Rosenbaum in his thumbnail review calls Howard "an exemplar of mediocrity." I take this as favorable; that it means Howard's mediocrity is so exemplary it transcends its own ordinariness. This movie reminded me of Seabiscuit, another conventional effort that works, and another symbolic Depression come-from-behind success story -- though the horseracing details of that one engaged me more, personally, than the boxing details of this one, and I got more tears and joy from the Triple Crown than I ever do from any rise to the heavyweight championship. Among recent mainstream American fight pictures Ali is more grand, its subject more complex and accomplished, Will Smith the astonishingly spirited and able recreator of the wonderful personality, the cadences of the voice, and even of the light-footed boxing technique. And Million Dollar Baby has more minimalist power: Eastwood doesn't need a Depression to show how down at the heels the boxing life can be. But if you like the nitty gritty black and white boxing movie style and don't mind having an "exemplar of mediocrity" reproducing it, Cinderella Man is your stuff. Mediocrity never felt solider, stronger, or nicer. Only a small dose of Dramamine required.

Posted on Chris Knipp website

[oscar jubis]

Find my reaction here:http://www.filmwurld.com/forums/show...1153#post11153

Originally posted by Chris Knipp
I may have to modify my anti-Howard position, especially since I now realize I've seen only four of Howard's 28 directorial efforts. With that limited exposure, I can't, strictly speaking, have an educated opinion about his work as a whole.

Out of those 28, 3 are filmschool shorts, 6 are made-for-tv and 2 are in pre-production. Which leaves 17 features, all with redeeming aspects, most worth-watching, none what you'd call excellent or great. My favorites are Parenthood ('89) and... Cinderella Man, although Far and Away is "really neat" too.

Rosenbaum in his thumbnail review calls Howard "an exemplar of mediocrity." I take this as favorable; that it means Howard's mediocrity is so exemplary it transcends its own ordinariness.

The complete quote is "an exemplar of honorable mediocrity" and he made CM his Critic's Choice of the week. It's most definitely a favorable review.

This movie reminded me of Seabiscuit, another conventional effort that works, and another symbolic Depression come-from-behind success story -- though the horseracing details of that one engaged me more, personally, than the boxing details of this one, and I got more tears and joy from the Triple Crown than I ever do from any rise to the heavyweight championship.

I had the exact opposite reaction. Additionally, I liked it a bit more than Ali or Rocky and not nearly as much as Million Dollar Baby or Raging Bull. I wish all those fools who are making the silly remake of The Longest Yard a huge hit at the b.o. would go watch C. M. instead. As for fellow filmwurld members, it's easy to predict who'll overrate it and who'll dismiss it altogether.

[Chris Knipp]

I should have acknowledged your comment and given the "honorable" part of the Rosenbaum quote. I know that the Rosenbaum review was favorable; I probably didn't make myself clear on that, and you were right to clarify, but it was not my misunderstanding but my indirect use of the quote which is probably misleading. I was trying to interpret exactly what would make mediocrity exemplary, hence my play with aurea mediocritas. I hope I didn't misquote that too. It doesn't matter about the other films. We all always like different films. I never saw Rocky. I avoided it by reputation. I don't feel obligated to see everything. I did see Parenthood though -- I think. I may have repressed it. You don't say exactly how Cinderella Man compares for you with Seabiscuit, just that you responded to the latter less. I am not sure that Ali is a great movie but I think it has stunning moments and Will Smith is amazing. Crowe's performance to me is not on that level because he didn't have to evoke a person we actually know, and his performance in the ring was workmanlike whereas Smith's really sang, as it must, to evoke Ali. It goes without saying, if we have to play this comparison game, that Million Dollar Baby has more punch and originality, and Raging Bull (though I find it most unpleasant) is a landmark film. It may sound egocentric but when I said Ali was more grand and Million Dollar Baby has more minimalist power I thought I was simply stating facts rather than giving my relative enjoyment. But when comparing Seabiscuit with Cinderella Man I was speaking strictly of my personal preferences, just to make them clear; they have no significance, except as part of saying the films are similar populist, sentimental tearjerkers, honorable mediocrities, about come from behind Depression heroes. A boxer is kind of like a race horse, isn't he? Do more boxers die in fights or more horses die in races? Perhaps the former. Somebody could really run with this comparison. In a way it's more relevant than to compare Cinderella Man with other boxing movies. But I guess I just say that because I'm not that keen on boxing, so I'll take any excuse to lead the discussion toward another topic.

[oscar jubis]

My aim was to provide more evidence that you were right to call the thumbnail review "favorable" not to imply any lack of clarity or acknowledgement on your part.
I am also speaking strictly of my personal preferences when comparing Seabiscuit and Cinderella Man.
As far as I'm concerned, Ali is irrelevant since we have the real thing on excellent docs, most notably When We Were Kings, and on news reels.

[Chris Knipp]

I felt a lack of clarity on my part, so assumed you saw that.

There's an essential difference between fiction and non fiction. Documentaries and newsreels, however "excellent," can't render a cinematic dramatization of history or biography "irrelevant." You may just be stating a personal preference, but the way you state it really stings. You could as well say Polanski"s The Pianist is "irrelevant" because there was already Wladyslaw Szpilman's autobiographical account telling the whole story.

A dramatization of real events has different kinds of magic, a different (and greater) appeal to the audience's imagination. Ron Howard didn't make Cinderella Man because the newsreels of Braddock's fightis were sketchy but because there was a good story there to dramatize, and the same is even more true of Ali: no matter how familiar his life is we want to see it dramatized. Your dismissal is unkind in itself, but also belied by the brilliance of some of the sequences of Michael Mann's film.

Look at a what a critic you admire, J. Hoberman, has to say about Ali. "The first half percolates wonderfully—and the first half hour is even better than that." He notes as one must, the opening "thrilling montage" of the dance floor, which is worthy of study by film students or fledgling filmmakers. Maybe as Hoberman says the latter part of the movie is"losing the rich context" of the earlier sections. But Will Smith's performance and impersonation, equivalent to Jamie Foxx's of Ray Charles, makes the film well worth watching -- not "irrelevant." Seen on a big screen, Ali delights with it's bright and engaging visual style and accomplished forward rhythm. "Irrelevant"? No way, man. No way.

"Irrelevant" is however what people are eager on the same narrow principles to call Lords of Dogtown, because it's even more obvious (this comparison doesn't require a very high I.Q.) that there is a good documentary covering all the same people and period. Moreover -- duh -- Stacy Peralta both made the documentary and wrote the screenplay, so there's the same man working the same material. But he's working it in an entirely different way. There's no personal story like Braddock's or personality of the richnesss of Ali's, but what the new film has is the ability to draw us into its [re-]imagined world. The same is true of Ali. Why not see the newsreels and documentaries and the fictional film in both cases, and any similar ones, as complimentary? That's what they are, in both cases. To call one "irrelevant" simply because the other exists and is of great interest is comparing apples and oranges. It is because good documentary material exists that a fiction version cries out to be made. Your logic would make any recreation in another form or another language liable to be branded as "irrelevant" and tossed out by the draconian rule that if the material has been well documented, there's no need to bring it to dramatic life.

[oscar jubis]

That's an excellent post, Chris and I agree with practically all of it.
Allow me to qualify and expand on my previous comment. Ali was irrelevant to me because it didn't teach me anything about its subject that I didn't already know and because, while watching it, I kept wishing I was watching the real thing. I grew up watching Ali's fights and I've watched a number of documentaries, both originally made for theatrical exhibition and those assembled by sports cable networks from existing footage. I still have vivid memories of watching "The Thrilla in Manila" with my father, for instance. Watching Ali felt to me like one feels at those "impersonation shows" where lookalikes imitate their idols. I don't think it is a bad movie, just one that had no value to me given my long, previous experience with its subject.

[Chris Knipp]

Thanks for the comment, Oscar, I put thought into the post and appreciate positive feedback on it. I understand what you're saying about your relationship to the Muhammad Ali fights and that making Michael Mann's movie seem to you an unnecessary process, but from my point of view it would have been better to have spelled that out in the beginning, because the bald statement that Ali seems "irrelevant" sounds unfair.

As for the "impersonation show" aspect of Ali, you're right, but it's also a good movie and an exceptional impersonation because of Will Smith's mastery of the boxing techniques. More like Spacey's singing Bobby Darrin song's than Foxx's lip synching and body mimicry. I'm clear that Ali is a better movie than either Ray or Beyond the Sea.

This is just one of the issues around biopics. It doesn't come up so much for Cinderella Man, but it comes up more for Beautiful Mind -- accuracy, not mimicry. Not that we generally know any more what John Nash looked and sounded like than we (the general public) do for Braddock, but Nash is closer to living memory and the changes made in the facts seem more questionable, based on a big New York Times article at the time Beautiful Mind came out and a biogrraphy of Nash used, but altered, for Howard's movie. This became important for me when I saw Beautiful mind and was offended by its use of questinable assumptions about genius and madness and its obviously manipulative feel-good ending. When I learned that there had been falsifications, I was incensed. Given Akiva Goldman's involvement in the writing of both pictures, it's the more possible that similar things are happening in Cincerella Man. But I confess I care less about using a boxer -- or I thought I did; now I'm less sure -- for one's own ideological purposes than using an intellectual. Needless to say in any case Crowe does a fine job in both movies. But I might wonder as does Walter Chow in FilmFreak Central why an actor of Crowe's caliber doesn't work with more directors above the "honorable mediocrity" level?

But this is not to say that "accuracy" is any more essential than mimicry in using a historical figure. If it is a free and artistically admirable revision of the actual person's manner and life, in the hands of a great filmmaker it may be more than acceptable. It's because I question Howard's "honorably mediocre" approach to biopic making that for me these issues come up.

[oscar jubis]

Interesting that Rosenbaum's long review of Cinderella Man published on 6/10/05 is titled: Working-Class Hero. Check it out.

[Chris Knipp]

It's not such a long "long review," and it's not a detailed discussion of the social and political issues involved; I don't think Rosenbaum thinks Howard's simplicities are worthy of much analysis, though he does rate the movie "a must see."

This review takes up the "working class" issue thus: "The compassion for the poor in Cinderella Man is far from complex, but it's exceptional because it's the meaning of Braddock's story, not just an aspect of it." And he goes on to say that, although "class consciousness plays a key role in American political consciousness... it's often expressed in garbled and deceptive cultural terms." This last point about "garbled terms" is what I have been trying to get out in our exchanges over the use of the phrase "working class hero." No doubt about the fact that Howard and his writers want Braddock to be such a hero, but only in their skewed version of that term.

Rosenbaum likes Cinderella Man's political implications, the fact that poverty is viewed with compassion, that Braddock doesn't seek to rise above his class. But I wish he'd commented further on the "implied moral victory" of returning the government relief funds. This makes the poor man a moral hero, but it makes it look like the need for public assistance is somthing the working class must rise above, rather than a public necessity, an idea continued from the Republicans by Bill Clinton.

I don't believe I was denying that this is what (in his own terms) Howard wants Braddock to be, or what he was for his Depression fans. I'm just arguing that the conception of him given in the movie not so subtly distorts what "working class hero" means in its original context. As Rosenbaum notes, compassion for the poor can be in as distracting a context as Samuel Fuller's virulent anti-communism in Pickup on South Street. Unfortunately, Rosenbaum doesn't develop this theme further in this short "long" review; he moves on to say Giamatti's part is a more complex one, and then he stops.