The Fighter

Before the first bout in David O. Russell's The Fighter, Christian Bale repeats over and over, as a mantra, "you're Mickey Ward!" Ostensibly he is informing his half-brother, Mickey Ward (Mark Wahlberg), of his self-worth both as a man and a competitor. He may simply be reminding Wahlberg that cameras are rolling and he is, in fact, portraying a character (mistakes have ben made in some of the New Kid's previous films). Narratively, however, "Mickey Ward" stands for more than just the undersized guy with the red gloves on; he's himself, his reputation, his family, his family's reputation, his town, his town's reputation, and probably something about the New England Patriots (and their reputation).

After Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees, Russell got bogged down on the production of what would have been his fifth film. Nailed, which still lies wanting on some cutting room floor, was about a woman (Jessica Biel) who gets shot in the brain with a nail gun, an injury that causes her to experience unnatural and untimely sexual urges.  She goes on a crusade to Washington on behalf of the bizarrely injured but ends up being exploited both in bed and the press by an immoral congressman (Jake Gyllenhaal). After that potent mixture of Christopher Buckley and a monkey-with-a-typewriter ran aground, it was time to go back to work. Boxing and family; there could not possibly be any safer or more well-worn material. The Fighter arrives at awards season, the people's champ biopic, while The King's Speech sulks off to the side in art-houses. It lists Darren Aronofsky as an executive producer, fresh off of de-weirding his own career with The Wrestler (then re-weirding it with Black Swan). 

Russell was probably only brought on because Wahlberg trusts him - this was a Markie Mark production all the way. When the creator of Entourage has had free time from getting in shape to play Ward (reportedly for the past five years), he's been paying the bills with several "authentic", Boston movies. The Fighter is the last in a long line of these films that emphasize geographic place over societal status, Hollywood's latest inferiority complex. This time, however, there is a reason for the setting - the truth; at least the film is not some New York cop movie rewritten for Dorchester.

Yes, this is a story of a white, underdog fighter who finally gets a shot at the title, and it has a happy ending, I doubt many critics would call The Fighter uplifting. Russell has done an incredible job of sneaking his subversions in every little crack of celluloid he can find, and ultimately has made a movie where accomplishments in the ring are dwarfed by the problems outside of it (it is very telling that until the end credits, there is not a whiff of the Ward-Gotti fights that made "The Pride of Lowell" so famous). The Fighter opens with HBO shooting a documentary about Dickie Ecklund (Bale), a former contender who may have knocked down Sugar Ray. However, the film crew has no interest in Ecklund as a fighter; only as what he is now - a crackhead. Bale's performance, which starts in the opening frame and carries the otherwise forgettable film to its finish, is as raw and terrifying as anything since Raging Bull. Though it was only the intent of the film-within-the-film, The Fighter ends up being as much a cautionary tale about substance abuse as it is about overcoming adversity to be a champion

The strength of Bale's work, along with the bitter, manipulative turn by Melissa Leo as Ward and Ecklund's mother, elevate the film above other middle-of-the-road sports movies. The choice between one's own good and the good of one's family is a constant struggle for highly paid athletes, and though a better effort by its star might make The Fighter great, at least it gets us thinking.

Though it might have turned pure cheese, Mark Wahlberg's first full-on vanity project has to be considered a mild success. Mickey Ward might not have the tragic arc of Terry Malloy or the inner demons of Jake Lamotta. At the same time, The Fighter is hardly gauzy hagiography in the grand tradition of Cinderella Man - there is a lived in quality, a focus on home movies, natural lighting and the actual locations. Russell eschews the typical uplift of 80-piece orchestra, instead using classic rock and hair-metal to underline the most important moments. It's rare for a movie with the sentence "based on a true story" in the opening titles to actually feel that way. The Fighter delivers on that humble promise.