Despite flashy visuals and Eminem-injected-adrenaline, “Southpaw” doesn’t pack much punch for the violent rage it promises. Directed by Antoine Fuqua, known for “Training Day” (2001), “Shooter” (2007) and “Olympus Has Fallen” (2013), “Southpaw” stars Jake Gyllenhaal as Billy Hope, a professional boxer trying to avenge the death of his wife, Maureen (Rachel McAdams), and regain his championship title. While Gyllenhaal displays incredible commitment to portraying the enraged boxer, his and McAdams’ acting can’t save “Southpaw” from its dull, slow story and uninspired dialogue.
Running at about two hours, “Southpaw” could have been told in 90 minutes and achieved the same half-baked, melodramatic effect. Like other boxing films, notably “Rocky” or “Raging Bull,” the film introduces Hope as a boxer with an anger problem, threatening his relationship with his wife and daughter, Leila. “Southpaw” adds a slight spin to the convention (Hope fights for his daughter, not a girlfriend), but beyond that, the movie barely distinguishes itself.
Hope is not the brightest (he has trouble spelling “incarcerated” in a speech for a charity event), and the film seems to overemphasize his rawness in order to compensate for the narrative’s lack of a middle.
Hope crashes cars and breaks furniture; it’s as if the producers assume that Gyllenhaal’s ridiculous stunts will make up for the movie’s clumsy form. Their family has glimpses of tenderness, but the film pays more attention to McAdams in her form-fitting dress than to building her role as a mother. Both actors’ performances become desperate attempts to compensate for bad writing.
Because of no solid foundation, “Southpaw” drags. A lot. Maureen’s death scene even pushes the limits of the actors’ abilities, and the story lingers in Hope’s depression without actively moving the story back to boxing. Moments like Hope’s realization that he may need to sell his house is suffocatted in boring dialogue; Hope’s manager (50 Cent) takes several, expository minutes just to tell Hope, “You have no money.”
Anger turns into angst as each stunt and curse word loses power, until finally, like most sports movies, the famous athlete humbly returns to the rugged, ghetto gym to train. Everything about “Southpaw” tries too hard, particularly its constant use of clichés to show Hope’s training. Boys from a tough neighborhood, run-down equipment, mentorship between Hope and the kids — nothing feels new, and even these attempts at redeeming the characters fall flat.
Showy editing and visuals becomes the film’s obvious crutch. The camera shakes during the fight, moves in and out of focus constantly, blurs the audience after Hope is hit in the eye; visually, the movie takes every opportunity to show off some new visual effect to replace actual emotion, as if just showing Hope’s bleeding eye in graphic close-up isn’t enough to show he’s been hit.
Tasteless tricks become useless, such as showing Maureen text their daughter, “Daddy won,” or Leila later sitting in bed texting her mom when dad will be back. It’s as if Fuqua thinks the audience won’t understand that Leila misses Hope, and needs to spell it on screen for the viewer instead. Even the music in “Southpaw” defers to sappy melodrama, infecting every potentially emotional moment with a predictable, slow-moving piano or strings accent. In all aspects, the movie refuses to rely on its actors or script to convey emotion but feels the need to add some new element, successfully watering down any genuine moment.
Despite Gyllenhaal’s scary-at-times commitment to the role and some intriguing camera techniques, like seeing Hope with a gun on his bed or screaming into the camera, the film destroys any merit with oversentimental drama and a poorly constructed narrative. Like someone who desperately wants you to think he/she is interesting, “Southpaw” demands attention without having anything meaningful to add to the conversation.
Catch (or choose to miss) “Southpaw” at Cinemark Tinseltown off Cheyenne Mountain Boulevard at noon and 7:10 p.m. throughout the week, and tune in for a review of the lighter, NYC comedy “Mistress America” first week of Block 2.