A good, but flawed, film.

Rating: 7/10 (4 June 2005)

Having just seen "Cinderella Man," I am left with mixed feelings; there are things that I absolutely loved, but then again also an equal number of things that just disappointed me. Granted, I was not looking forward to seeing this film; from the trailer, it looked as if it were going to be a hackneyed, contrived hankie-wringer aimed solely at the heartstrings of Oscar voters and grandmothers. Now, having seen the film, this preconceived notion is both corroborated in some ways and dispelled in others. Let me proceed first with the latter.
First: Paul Giamatti is outstanding. I can definitely see a well-deserved Best Supporting Actor nod for him here as Russell Crowe's longtime manager and coach. In my opinion, he is the very best aspect of this film. His accent is dead-on (more about accents later, with respect to Ms. Zellweger especially), his execution is layered and nuanced without ever bringing his motives into question--he took what could have been a very one-dimensional character and truly brought him to life.
Also, Mr. Crowe has turned in yet another excellent performance as the titular Runyonesque fighter, James J. Braddock. His tremendous chemistry with all of his colleagues truly brings a close ensemble feel to what otherwise might have been perceived as a loosely-drawn bunch of Depression-era ragamuffins. His rapport not only with Mr. Giamatti (which at first may seem like an unlikely pairing turns out to be spot-on) and also with the children--and even the insufferable Renee Zellweger--truly lends the sympathy that is so essential to successful execution of this film. Although this may not be as complex a role as John Nash, or even dare say Jeffrey Wigand, he still, much in the vein of Mr. Giamatti, pulls off an excellent deepening of the film's protagonist.
The film truly centers around the fight scenes, which I found to be expertly choreographed, shot and edited. They were, much like those in "Raging Bull" and, more recently, "Million Dollar Baby," extraordinarily involving. Do not be surprised if you find yourself throwing small punches in your seat as you watch these thoroughly immersing and lavishly entertaining sequences--not only great for the action itself, but also for the brilliant interplay between Mr. Crowe and Mr. Giamatti, hearkening images of De Niro and Pesci some 25 years ago.
Finally, the overall film-making itself is top notch. Ron Howard, ever the picture of a well-polished storyteller is in his usual good form. Although the direction itself sometimes seems to range from heavily-involved and moving (the fight scenes) to distant and sluggish (the non-fight scenes--to be discussed in a moment), his hands are certainly some of the most competent in the business for delivering such a large-scale film while still retaining artistic credibility (not mentioning any recent sandal-and-toga epics.) However, the time has now come to examine some of the films pitfalls. First, the writing is stilted and, except during the fight scenes, rather false-sounding. The dialogue--especially Ms. Zellweger's--sounds as if she had written herself crib notes a few minutes before she prepared to say anything and then snuck a peek at them when the time came to whine whatever it is that she wanted to say. Coming from a tried-and-true--and Academy Award-winning--writer of the ilk of Akiva Goldsman, I expect more out of such a script.
However, the film's principal problem is not the writing, but rather every scene that takes place outside of a boxing arena--i.e. every scene including Ms. Zellweger. These copious exhibitions of Mr. Braddock's unflappable integrity and love for his family, even in spite of the squalor in which they lived, were very nice, but truly dragged the pace of this film to a grinding halt. These lumbering scenes, which endeavored so to have dramatic weight and impact, only left the viewer looking at his/her watch until the next fight scene came. But, of course, they were necessary; they just felt so stagy which, of course, is perfectly fine if performed on a stage, but cinema is a medium in which actions are magnified thousandfold over live theater and, as such, steps must be taken to compensate. The film's "dramatic" scenes simply have a heavy flamboyance to them that screams for much-needed dilution.
And now the unfortunate time has come to examine the absolute worst aspect of this film, Ms. Renee Zellweger, as Mr. Braddock's long-suffering wife Mae. I cannot understand the fame that Ms. Zellweger has managed to accrue for herself in light of her inability to deliver any sort of dramatic integrity to her roles. She comes off as a puckered, whining nag who, for the strong performance of Mr. Crowe, is simply eclipsed, leaving the viewer asking the question of why such a big-name actress was needed for such an overshadowed role (which I am convinced was blown up exponentially in order to give Ms. Zellweger screen time)? Not only is the rhythm with which she speaks distracting and irritating (it sounds as if she has sleep apnea even while awake), but her phony dialogue is not improved at all by her guttersnipe boo-hooing, as Henry Higgins might call it. Contrived lines such as "...you are the champion of my heart" (pronounced by Ms. Zellweger as "haht," in perhaps the most phony North Jersey accent ever committed to celluloid--she would have been much better off using her own, undoctored voice) are likely to induce cringing and perhaps even nausea, as Ms. Zellweger's purveying of them does not improve at all their overwrought schmaltz. Ms. Zellweger is simply abhorrent and is one of the film's very biggest drawbacks.
The quality of the film-making itself is top-notch, no corners cut, but even though the film is technically successful, dramatically it certainly is not. It simply has the look and feel of a 1950s formula studio picture, only sans the Dore Schary producer credit. Proceed with caution.