There was a period that lasted around a decade between the mid-2000s and the end of the 2010s, in which one of the most popular genres for films were those that centred on boxing – they weren’t confined to this period, but this is when they were arguably at their peak, each one seeming to be intent on replicating the success of films like Rocky and Raging Bull, which presented the sport as something that everyone could appreciate it, even if they weren’t particularly interested in boxing itself, since there was a very human drama that occurred alongside it. Unsurprisingly, none of them really managed to find their way to that level, and what we were instead left with is are a myriad of films that try and find the humanity in a sport that many still view as barbaric, as well as ones that seem to be intent on taking the easy way out by presenting these stories through the same hackneyed lens, drawing on a few familiar subjects, implying that anything can be compelling if there is some degree of suffering that occurs around it. The Fighter is definitive of this kind of film, and certainly one of the reasons why it hasn’t necessarily succeeded, since every problem with the modern boxing film genre can be found here, to the point where looking back on The Fighter a decade later requires some degree of humour, since there is very little David O. Russell is doing with this story that we have not seen before, and considering what a gifted filmmaker he was (and this film itself launched him into a brief career revival, where his next three films were all massively acclaimed and celebrated in their own way), the fact that The Fighter is seen as one of his pinnacles makes us wonder how much he really had to offer, if this is the best he could do with a promising set of ideas.

There are moments in The Fighter where not only does it fail to build on the genre it is too intent on defining, it actively seems to be regressing to a place of parody. The main problem with this film is that it doesn’t know what it wants to be – a family drama about sibling rivalry, a harrowing story of addiction, a darkly comical portrayal of the inner workings of a cutthroat industry, or simply just a boxing movie about someone overcoming adversity by working hard enough and believing in himself to the point where he was willing to take on the world. Taken on their own, there is merit to each one of these components, and they could’ve flourished into something quite meaningful, even if they are rooted in a deeply cliched tradition of how these kinds of films tend to be constructed. Yet, despite the promise, absolutely none of these potential themes are developed all that well, and when put together, they create a muddled tapestry of eccentric characters that exist solely to progress a story that seems to be the least interesting part of the film. Russell is known for his eclectic style, taking on a range of different stories that don’t really bear much resemblance to one another (it’s led to debates as to whether the director is versatile, or just doesn’t have enough of an authorial voice to create a solid through-line amongst his films – I often tend towards the latter), but one has to wonder whether the story of “Irish Micky” Ward and his rise to success was one that was suited for Russell, someone who has mostly dealt in more intimate, cerebral stories that usually focus on more unlikable characters. A sports biopic is barely something we’d expect from this particular director, but instead of surprising us, we get exactly what we expected, so it’s barely surprising that The Fighter is not the film it could’ve been.

Another problem with The Fighter – perhaps the most significant after the jarring manner in which Russell put it together – is that, despite being a biographical story, absolutely none of these characters seem real, outside of a few fleeting moments from only some of them. Surprisingly, Mark Wahlberg is somewhat effective as the lead, convincingly playing the role of Micky Ward with a quiet conviction we don’t often see from an actor who has mostly shown himself to be limited. This may be Wahlberg’s peak (which is somewhat disappointing, since the discourse back in 2010 was that this film represented an enormous step forward for the actor in very serious work and the start of a new stage of his career, something he has yet to live up to, with most of his choices being limited to the same bland fare that most associate him with), but regardless of the film around him, his dedication is admirable. Amy Adams turns in a decent performance, but she is severely underused, and simply can’t escape the fact that she’s playing a slightly more complex version of the “boxer’s girlfriend” archetype, which has since become the subject of ridicule, and she doesn’t get to do much to dissuade us from throwing her in with other similar performances that don’t serve many purposes. Both are at least a lot better than the work being done by Christian Bale and Melissa Leo, who are supposedly playing complex characters, but come across as nothing more than caricatures, loud and brash individuals that are supposed to be filled with personality, but rather serve to be distracting, especially considering they’re existing in a film that isn’t sure if it wants to be a bold biographical drama, or a slice of social realism – and its this inconsistency that leads to The Fighter being such an unabashedly dull and unconvincing mess of a film.

The Fighter is just far too hysterical to be anywhere close to decent, and even at its most effective, it still comes across as overwrought. There is some alternative version of this film that is identical, but rather than being a heavy-handed drama, it is a satirical parody of this genre of films, which is perhaps the only way it makes any sense. Russell had only directed comedies previously (and since), so one needs to wonder to what extent his experience in that genre impacted his attempt to direct something very serious and dramatic. There are clearly moments where he attempts to infuse some comedic aspects into the story (such as the presence of “The Sisters”, a Greek chorus of foul-mouthed Boston housewives that form a singular entity that exists solely to bring some levity to the proceedings), but instead of lightening the mood, it simply continues to muddle the film and make it even more jarring, since we’re never sure where we sit with these characters, since the film is so singularly disinterested in exploring their journey. It has its mind made up from the first moment, and it is convinced that the only logical progression would be for it to remain within these character boundaries, allowing the story to occur around them, rather than developing them beyond the most hackneyed archetypes imaginable. Russell is a director who simply tries too hard – he doesn’t allow any of the content of this film to simmer, with each moment having to be filled with some sarcastic quip or moment of enormous emotion, when sometimes the most effective approach would just to let something sit on screen and develop organically. The sheer amount of content on screen at any given moment should be the first sign that there is something amiss – and considering that the first ten minutes of this film are filled with an entire act’s worth of action, it’s clear that there was an enormous amount of work that needed to be done, whether in terms of the writing, directing or editing of a film that just feels inconsistent from beginning to end. 

Russell is a much better director than this film would lead you to believe, or at least someone who has been able to show depth in even the most inconsistent works – and unfortunately, as his first (and so far only) sole foray into the realm of drama, was an extraordinary disappointment, especially considering the origins of the story. The life and career of Micky Ward is certainly very interesting, much more than this film would have you believe. There is definitely a good film that could’ve been made from this material, albeit one that would’ve been helmed by a director with a more assured approach, and populated by actors who could give performances that had the right amount of depth and subtletly, while still having the fundamental quality of being, above anything else, recognizably human, rather than the loud, cartoonish portrayals we received from some of these actors (unsurprisingly, the only fully compelling performance in this entire film comes on behalf of Mickey O’Keefe, the main character’s real-life trainer who is playing himself, perhaps the only admirable choice made in this entire film). There is just something missing from this film, a sense of authenticity, which is replaced with a kind of insincerity that hints towards the intention being to make something that audiences would be forced to pay attention to by virtue of the fact that it is loud and noticeable, rather than being an honest, organic exploration of the life of a public figure and his family, which deserved so much better than this inconsistent, jarring film that never really amounts to much, other than being the perfect encapsulation of why boxing movies have become the subject of such worldwide parody, why precisely why there will always be a sense of apprehension from large portions of the audience that may not be willing to pay much attention to such films, since their predictability and familiar structure aren’t all that inspiring anymore.