Boxing is made for character studies: stark tales of primal combat that pivot on the psychology of fighters and their supporters. Raging Bull, Rocky, and Fat City are the New Hollywood ur-texts for such films, and one can see the outlines of the latter especially in Antoine Fuqua’s feature Southpaw. Nonetheless, a more classical model is evident in Kurt Setter’s script for the film. Chronicling the fall and redemption of light heavyweight champ Billy Hope (Jake Gyllenhaal), Southpaw foregrounds straightforward, moralistic storytelling that is reminiscent of early 20th-century boxing flicks like The Champ and Gentleman Jim.
Billy is on top of the world at Southpaw’s outset, but his descent is swift following the death of his devoted, vigilant wife Maureen (Rachel McAdams). Billy’s manager Jordan (Curtis Jackson) smooth-talks the distraught fighter into a fiasco of a match, and soon afterwards the banks, lawyers, and social services come calling, the latter to remove Billy’s daughter Leila (Oona Laurence). Relocating from his rock star estate to a Hell’s Kitchen tenement, the boxer is reduced to begging dubious gym manager Tick (Forest Whitaker) for a job mopping floors. Reuniting with Leila requires that Billy sober up and attain some financial stability, but to achieve the latter he eventually has to reenter the ring.
Southpaw represents a stylish yet safe breed of filmmaking, competently executed but featuring a cheerlessly predictable story. This isn’t to say it is bereft of interest: Fuqua infuses the film’s most emotional moments with quivering intensity, and the boxing sequences are top-notch, unnervingly bloody stuff. Gyllenhaal disappears into a battered man who is all mumbling, coiled anger, and he teases out a novel, engaging chemistry with each of his fellow actors, especially Whitaker and Laurence. Indeed, Southpaw’s uniformly strong performances are ultimately what make the film a worthwhile experience.
