Boxing is nearly dead as a sport but more vital than ever at the movies.
Hardly anyone can name even one of the current world heavyweight champions – or make sense of the alphabet soup of title belts – while Russell Crowe, Will Smith and Hilary Swank are the most famous boxers of their generation.
Boxing works better as fiction than reality. A dwindling core of spectators watches live bouts amid growing criticism of the sport as bloody, inept, unsettling and possibly corrupt.
The stereotypes and archetypes created by generations of boxing movies, though, seem more important to people every decade and more powerful in our popular culture. The most coveted trophy in boxing these days is not the gilded belt of the “new world champeen,” but the Academy Award. “Rocky” won in 1976, “Million Dollar Baby” won last year, and unless “Cinderella Man” turns into a box-office tomato can, the Depression-era weeper and star Russell Crowe are early Oscar bets.
We’ve heard enough coach-potato sportswriters bloviate about the “sweet science” of facing off inside a ring. But boxing movies resonate because of less obvious clichés that gift wrap little daydreams for our everyday lives.
The Loyal Gal Who Kisses Boo-Boos. The Grouchy Corner Man Who Would Beat Up the Bad Guy Himself if He Wasn’t Five-Foot-Two. The Supportive (or Abusive) Mob That Bought Tickets. The Ineffectual Referee. The Dirty Champion. The Training Montage, or Get Strong in Three Minutes.
Consider this a handy checklist of ideas for you to tick off the next time you see “Requiem for a Heavyweight” or “The Hurricane.”
Corner man as crusty saint. Don’t we all want a cigar-chomping boss with a heart of gold? Someone who will call us pathetic when we need it, then stand by our side and snarl at our opponents when the heat is on. (A quick hand with the No Swell tool helps, too.) Burgess Meredith seemed to have retired the role forever in “Rocky,” but Paul Giamatti breathes new life into the myth. In “Cinderella Man,” Giamatti may be even tougher than Crowe’s James Braddock. And they make Giamatti human by giving him a beautiful wife, after too many recycles of Morgan Freeman or Meredith as monkish gym rats.
The clueless referee. Memo to the refs: Boxers can be nasty. But boxing referees are always somewhere else when the dirty punch happens. This stereotype speaks to our underdog delusions: We all know life isn’t fair, and you can’t count on the government to sort out your problems. It’s as if the ref has never seen a head butt before, or a jab below the belt, or a contender brained by a flying chair. The entire world of pro wrestling is built on this premise. Some argue “Million Dollar Baby” took this cliché to new lows, letting the mean champion terrorize poor lil’ good ol’ girl Hilary Swank.
The three-minute title fight workout. Boxing movies didn’t necessarily invent the training montage, but they sure perfected it. They feed on our desire for reward without suffering. Start with an out-of-shape, self-doubting contender. Have him hit something unorthodox, like a side of beef. Make him jog in ugly sweats. Make that speed bag waggle like a dog’s tail at suppertime. Voila! Instant champion, and it took less than 180 seconds of hard work. Rocky lifts himself out of the Philadelphia gutters to sprint up the city’s most famous stairway.
Women who hate boxing who marry boxers. Isn’t it time for a psychologist to write a book about this strange phenomenon? These delicate flowers who fall in with pugilists. Hey, these women can’t take a punch! “Oh honey, please don’t fight again.” “Sweetie pie, stay home with me and the turtles!” Secretly, or not so secretly, every good man longs for a good woman who will sweetly kiss the vicious cuts at the corners of his soulful eyes. Talia Shire stretched the genre for “Rocky” by turning Adrian into a near-catatonic recluse. But of course she shows up for the big fight. For a star turn that attacked this cliché head-on, watch Maureen O’Hara give John Wayne as good as she gets in “The Quiet Man.”
A mob that roars. The extras who populate the bleachers for boxing movies have seen way too many gladiator pictures. Thumbs up or thumbs down, the spectators are a picked scab of raw emotion. They want the underdog to win, of course, but they’re willing to give up that dream as long as somebody gets pummeled. They love their Cinderella Man and will carry him from the arena on their shoulders. But if he clenches one too many times in his next fight or dances away from a beating, they’ll drop him like a rotten pumpkin. Relief for this hoary staple came with the internal strength of boxers in movies like “The Hurricane,” where Denzel Washington’s Rubin Carter fought for pride, not adulation.
The champ – he hate me. The person we defeat must deserve to be defeated. Americans find it too confusing to choose between worthy opponents. So one of them must be evil. The reigning champion taunts us, stacks the odds in his favor, sneers at our girlfriends and mothers, and never, ever fights fair. Why, in “Million Dollar Baby,” the champ is so mean she turns the underdog into a quadraplegic! Carl Weathers as Apollo Creed brought new energy to an old concept in “Rocky,” bringing a suave beauty and friendly arrogance to the part. In “Cinderella Man,” Max Baer as played by Craig Bierko is as dirty as they come, even calling out Mrs. Braddock. The cliché suits the needs of any audience – those who believe the world is run by tyrants and stacked hopelessly against us, and those who believe clean living and a three-minute training montage can overcome all obstacles.
Staff writer Michael Booth can be reached at 303-820-1686 or mbooth@denverpost.com.
