A well-told boxing story appealing to the inside jock hibernating in most of us.

Rating: 8/10 (19 February 2011)

I loved The Fighter the first time I saw it. It probably has a lot to do with my infatuation with boxing films as a genre – Raging Bull and When We Were Kings rank high in my personal movie pantheon. Russel visibly knows the canon perfectly and manages to pay tribute to all these great virile sport flicks without ending up making a pastiche. The Fighter is full of intertextuality – from the font of the boxing matches' captions to the training routines – it's knowingly self-referential but also playing strictly by the rules, and that's why it works so well despite what could be easily dismissed as a cliché-laden script of another underdog narrative.
The Fighter is based on the real life story of Mickey Ward (Mark Wahlberg), a taciturn and limited proletarian grafter very similar to Rocky Balboa (if the latter was Irish and not Italian), trained by his brother Dicky (Christian Bale) like Jake La Motta in Raging Bull. The difference here with Scorsese's classic is that the only sane and sensible character is the fighter; his dysfunctional and self- destructive family (his brother has a serious drug problem while his mom is plain greedy) become his main obstacle on his way to victory. Loyal to his family till the end, Ward wastes his best years until his brother ends up in prison for one crack stunt too many. Now in the twilight of his career, and with the help of his girlfriend, a local barmaid, and a grumpy Irish cop (played by his real-life counterpart) Mickey finds his way back to the ring and stumbles on a chance to fight for the world title, his one and only shot at glory. Will he capture it? Or just let it slip? etc. You get the idea.
Christian Bale once again delivers the performance of a lifetime as the brother/coach of the title character, a local boxing legend turned crack-head. He adds a new dimension to the film, somewhat between cartoonish and pathetic, as if he came straight out of Trainspotting. His lame schemes to support his habit are hilarious, as are his friends from the crackhouse, depicted in the same warm, non-judgemental way of Danny Boyle's cult film. Bale's extravagant albeit touching portrayal is also reminiscent of Samuel L. Jackson's performance in Jungle Fever, perfectly channelling the madness of the moment under the influence of crack, while maintaining the character's humanity and integrity, avoiding to turn into a white Tyrone Biggums.
In the ropes, Mark Walhberg does what he does best: toughness + Irishness. Bringing vulnerability, grit and authenticity to the film, he leaves the flamboyance to Bale, who in return happily chews the scenery. Marky Mark could have just as easily steal the show like in The Departed but chooses not to. Definitely an underrated actor – mainly because he's capable of restraint.
This is David O. Russel's finest movie since Three Kings, a long awaited comeback for the director who wraps it up perfectly, playing with the different takes on the pugilistic genre, from the ESPN Classic approach (the shooting of a documentary on Dicky unfolds as an important storyline within the film while offering a welcome mise-en-abîme) to the Hollywoodian reconstitution and dramatisation of reality. The boxing fights, alternating inside-the-ring shots à la Raging Bull and HBO's satellite coverage style, are infectiously gripping and perfectly edited. Finally, the recurring use of the song "How You Like Me Now" by The Heavy brings energy and coherence, appropriately opening and closing the film.
Admittedly, The Fighter is nothing that we haven't seen before, and was clearly made to provide Christian Bale with a custom-made Oscar vehicle. It is no Michael Man's Ali though, and it is to the credit of the director and the cast if The Fighter still manages to pack a serious punch. A well-told sporting story will always appeal to the inside jock hibernating in most of us.
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