Michelle Rodriguez is a well-built high-school senior who discovers that she has a powerful punch and begins amateur training at a Brooklyn gym. Santiago Douglas is a a handsome young man, barely older than she, who also trains there. They meet after class, so to speak, and feel attracted to each other. No sex. Santiago has been instructed to save it for his next bout.
Both are participants in a "gender-blind" athletic program that makes no distinctions between males and females, a misguided attempt to level the athletic playing field.
A conservative radio commentator recently announced -- and I swear I'm not making this up -- "Let's face it; the president is black." I'm here to make an equally perspicacious observation -- "Men and women are different." Now, in 99 cases out of 100, this needn't make any difference in physical performance. But in the top one percent -- trained athletes whose skills have been honed to a fine edge -- men generally have the advantage. With their narrow hips they can run faster. And they have greater muscle mass and upper torso strength. These differences in body build make it possible for women to give birth and raise children and for men to catch and kill food for them. This sexual bifurcation is the result of the perfectly normal process of natural selection. Without it, there might not be any humans at all. And that, boys and girls, is why they have men's events and women's events at the Olympics. I speak to you as your anthropologist. That will be ten cents, PayPal preferred.
That's why I called this gender-blind program misguided. As talented a boxer as Rodrigues is, as she approaches the zenith of the game, she will eventually lose to a male.
That's where the complication arises in this movie. Rodrigues is finally matched against her boy friend, Douglas. Neither wants to loose any anger on the other, not to mention roundhouse rights, but the pride of both is at stake, and the pride is both personal and gender related. Douglas refuses to fight a woman in the ring. And Rodriguez is offended by what she sees as his patronizing attitude. It ends happily.
I wasn't really expecting much from the film. I thought it would be a rip off of Clint Eastwood's "Million Dollar Baby" until I discovered that this was released years earlier. And I'd never heard of the director or of any of the performers. That sort of obscurity generally augers ill -- made-for-television weepers and so forth.
But I was surprised at how neatly this is put together. The total absence of bathos left me open mouthed. So did the minimal use of boxing clichés -- the frayed ropes, the blood, the cutting of the swollen eye, the battered post-bout faces, the fat and sweaty onlooker shouting "Kill him!", the slow motion landing of glove on nose, the spray of sweat from the mauled head, the heroic music signaling the long-awaited apotheosis of the victor. None of that here -- well, almost none. The whole plot could be considered formulaic. Tough kid finds outlet in the ring, etc.
The feeling you're left with is that this is probably pretty much what these amateur contests are like. Different from those we see on TV and in ordinary movies. No bells ring, for instance, Instead a dancing and observant referee yells "Stop!" And "Box!" The contestants wear head gear. The gym is populated not by a crowd of cheering spectators, but only by a handful of people who have some particular interest in the goings on. It's a clean movie, despite the rather grim setting and the unhappy family dynamics.
Michelle Rodriguez can look pretty mean, what with her muscular bulk and her eyes glowing under her lowered brow, but once you get used to the idea that this is a girl who can beat you to a pulp anytime she wants, and once you hear the feminine contours of her supersegmentals, she ain't bad. (A scene in which she battles her father to the floor is overdoing it.) It was a little hard to understand Douglas's restraint when Rodriguez crawls all over him in bed. The director, Karyn Kusama, has chosen her talent carefully.
Shows what you can do with some talent, imagination, and a modicum of money. There ought to be more films like it. Take one of those multi-billion dollar blockbusters full of dinosaurs or space ships and spread the generosity around a little.

Oh man is this movie bad. It flows horribly. The story is about a race car driver who is in love with himself, and then has to promote a chicken fast food chain and while doing this, doesn't love himself. He tries getting out of the contract and horrible, painfully unfunny gags ensue. Jim Nabors seems as if he's sleepwalking, not acting. You'll miss such Burt sidekicks as Dom Deluise and Jerry Reed while watching this stinker. Loni Anderson's hair is downright scary, proving that tons of hairspray didn't go out in the sixties. Or maybe that was a wig. Speaking of, Burt's wig wasn't bad in this film. His worst "wig day" was in "Smokey and the Bandit 2". Anyhow, this movie is the worst Reynolds car movie, ever, ever, right up there with "Cannonball Run 2". The original "Smokey" and "Cannonball" (and "Hooper" which, thankfully, had no sequel) are great, funny films. This one isn't. Even Ned Beatty, who is a great actor, stinks. You'll long for a Jackie Gleason type villain who is fun to hate. And mind you, this isn't one of those fun movies to bag on. It's lousy, pure and simple. Even the outtakes at the end were tiresome and boring, and worst of all, unfunny. And least I forget, "Stroker Ace" was one of the first heavy nails to seal Burt's coffin before his somewhat-revival years later in "Boogie Nights", another film that, like "Deliverance" years earlier, shows that the man can act quite good when he has a decent platform to do so.