Southpaw is a hulking brute of a movie. It batters you, relentlessly, until you give in to its melodramatic script; it quite literally pulls no punches. Boxing metaphors aside, it is a powerful, engaging movie, one that is only marginally let down by its few – sadly avoidable – problems.
The film is embodied perfectly in the characterisation of its protagonist, Billy Hope (a fantastic Jake Gyllenhaal), whose anger and suffering – as his boxing career is shattered by personal turmoil – drive the film onwards. And it is entirely Gyllenhaal’s film. His much-documented transformation since last year’s Nightcrawler, where he played a lean, greasy, hooded-eyed loner, is unbelievable. In Southpaw, he is unrecognisable: tattooed, scarred, broken and packed with muscle. When we first meet Billy Hope, he is silent, focused, intense and angry. He is a man that has fought his way through life, from the orphanage to the ring; the tattoo on his back reads ‘Fear No Man’, and he enters the ring and annihilates his opponent, living up to his mantra. Billy is a character that never backs down from a fight, until, eventually, he pays the ultimate price, which the plot hinges upon. It is a virtuoso performance from Gyllenhaal, one that cements his place as one of Hollywood’s most talented and adaptable actors.
It is a virtuoso performance from Gyllenhaal, one that cements his place as one of Hollywood’s most talented and adaptable actors.
In fact, that the film’s inevitable ending is so impactful is a credit to his performance, which keeps us rooting for Billy throughout. It is the predictability of the plot that lets the film down, and occasionally the story feels all too familiar: when down-on-his-luck Billy Hope has nowhere else to turn, when he is at his lowest ebb, he does what every other boxing protagonist does – head to a local, run-down gym, and seek the expertise of a curmudgeonly trainer (Forest Whitaker) who has retired from training professionals to focus on amateur boxing.
That weakness is largely attributable to the script, a strong, if unspectacular, first from Sons of Anarchy showrunner Kurt Sutter. It has sadly inherited some of that show’s flaws, and often falls into too-obvious symbolism and nailed-on dialogue. In one telling scene, when Hope is struggling to reconnect with his daughter, she asks him for help spelling two words, ‘dismantled’ and ‘hopelessness’: the first, clearly a nod to their ruined family life; the double meaning of the second, given the character’s absent father is called ‘Billy Hope’, doesn’t take too much explaining.
The script isn’t without its strong points, however. The relationship between Billy and Maureen (‘Mo’) Hope (Rachel McAdams), upon which the entire plot depends, is strong and believable. Their rags-to-riches story of shared suffering, coupled with subtle details including matching tattoos, is meaningful and realistic enough to ensure the audience is fully invested in the intensity of their relationship – and all the more devastated when it comes to an abrupt end.
The film’s other performances vary from great to awful. The casting of Curtis ‘50 Cent’ Jackson as a fight promoter who ditches Billy for ‘the next big thing’ is nothing short of distracting. On the other end of the scale is Oona Laurence who, as young Leila Hope (Billy’s daughter), turns in a performance far beyond her twelve years (albeit with some minor, and forgivable, lapses). Her relationship with her father forms the emotional core of the movie. Even Rita Ora achieves a surprisingly quality cameo as the junkie wife of the film’s main antagonist, Miguel ‘Magic’ Escobar. Forest Whitaker, as Billy Hope’s trainer and redeemer, turns in a typically powerful – if unoriginal – Forest Whitaker performance.
As with any boxing movie, the fight scenes in Southpaw are key. Here, they’re shot as if for television – with the neat addition of an ‘HBO PPV’ logo in the bottom corner – and it adds a level of gritty realism to the film that is sorely needed. This realism is undermined slightly in the film’s final fight, where director Antoine Fuqua (The Equalizer, Olympus Has Fallen) subjects us to one-too-many shots of ‘the Southpaw punch’ but, given it is the punch upon which the entire film depends, Fuqua can be forgiven for making a big deal of it.
Southpaw sets its tone immediately after Billy’s opening fight, when we’re dropped into the changing room, and watch the damaged fighter – blood dripping out his mouth – be tended to by his wife. The shift in tone, from triumph to pain, is dramatic, and sets the agenda for the rest of the film – one of stark contrast between personal triumph and pain, both physical and emotional. Southpaw is, above all, about more than just boxing: it is a story of redemption, of family, of suffering. Its few minor flaws are no match for Gyllenhaal, who tackles them not unlike the way Billy Hope defeats his opponents in the ring. His performance allows us to keep rooting for Hope, and for the film, even when it hits its most predictable note: that, in the end, ‘hope’ always wins.
Paul Turner
Image: The Weinstein Company