Pugilism
Along the same lines as my previous mini-essay on the cultural significance of films such as Goodfellas (and since it's a more recent and topically appropriate peice), I include here another little addition to my growing published excuses for making this thing to begin with. More film theory? MORE FILM THEORY!
...
Cinderella Man
The most interesting thing about Ron Howard’s Cinderella Man, the painfully uplifting film about the life and struggles of boxer James J. Braddock, is the fact that a movie with Russell Crowe physically battling other men in a ring for the amusement and spectacle of a cheering, goading crowd actually ends up being less like Gladiator than Kingdom of Heaven.
Ron Howard, perhaps falling into the old filmmaker practice of choosing and sticking with a quintessential actor (and what would be wrong with that, if he did?), has decided to go with the Assailin’ Australian for the lead, and whatever you want to say about Russell, the man brings something to a role that has everybody cheering for him. Hell, even in Virtuosity I was more sympathetic towards his computer-program-cum-transubstantiated-psychopath than Denzel’s hero-generica. You want Russell to win. It really doesn’t matter what he’s doing. Captaining a ship? Fighting the German hordes? Going up against big tobacco? Please do well, Mr. Crowe. Please be our hope.
Ron Howard is also beginning to come into his own as a director. Sure, it can be said that he came into his own a long, long time ago, having headed up such canonical and widely popular and successful films as A Beautiful Mind, Apollo 13, Backdraft, and, to a lesser extent, Willow. But Howard’s real directing expertise, and his concept of creating a heartfelt, entertaining film is even beginning to betray him, and a personal style that borders on artistic outside of utility is undeniably beginning to form.
Ron has these wonderful little touches that, taken by themselves, seem meaningless and unimportant. Indeed, during the film, the thing that makes these moments just the opposite of inconsequential is the fact that you don’t notice them, you may never notice them in a thousand viewings of the film. But they are there, and if you do notice them, you start to form the picture in your mind of the true craftsman that he’s becoming. The example that springs readily to mind (as it is perhaps the most evident in this particular film) is the shot in Cinderella Man just before James’ fancy dinner scene in which the camera follows a waiter carrying a large, silver-domed serving tray out from the kitchen. The camera looks down on the reflective surface of the serving dish and we see the ceiling above and the doorway the waiter passes through faded into the reflected distance. What you don’t see, and what you may not even notice you’re supposed to be seeing, is the camera pointed directly into the polished silver.
Little technological and CG effect-oriented touches here and there add so much to Howard films, and people take the direction for granted. They never think that Opie’s really doing anything substantial on the screen, that he’s more of an actor’s director than an audience’s, but he has every bit the artistry of any other director on his level today, save for the fact that his particular artistry is subtle and seldom noticed.
I mean Howard’s. Ron Howard’s.
Hee.
Another addition Howard makes to his visuals is the not-quite-immediately-noticeable flashes of x-ray during some of the fight scenes. Occasionally, when someone is giving or receiving a damaging blow, an image will flash across the screen depicting, in medical specifics, the destruction being done upon impact. The first time we see this is when Braddock breaks his hand on the head of a another boxer where, for a moment so brief you scarcely realize you saw it, a bone schematic of hazy blue-against-white is flashed at the moment of collision and you are able to see the hand snap, even able to see a expressionistic piece of bone, perhaps just manifested pain, breaking away from the wrist and flying into the air. The same happens later, and more obviously, when Max Baer (the obvious and easily despicable villain of the film) is working on Braddock’s ribs, where it then flashes repeatedly to the cracked and shifting cage. Excellent little expressive affectations such as this are helping to truly shape Howard’s vision as a director, and is moving his stance in the artistic community from skilled craftsman to true artist.
And yet this is not the most important aspect of the film. Cinderella Man tells us a story; a story that, as a society separated from this experience by generations and a collective apathy toward our social history, we may never have learned or care to find out about in any other medium. Read about it? We don’t have the time and we don’t have the inclination to find out about a boxer during the depression, when there’s so much more happening nowadays (Survivor, The Jacko Trial, whether or not Paris Hilton currently has a cock in her mouth).
Ron Howard has made a film that tells the story of a man that we should know. We should know, we should be aware, we should find out in our lives about a man that lived once, a man that definitely did exist and lived this life, not because it’s a compelling story and will fill seats, not because it’s exciting and it’s the story of someone who raised the hopes of a nation. It’s the story of a man who took care of his family above all else, who never resorted to stealing, no matter how bad things got, and would gladly have his hand (and worse) broken just to provide for those that he loved. This is the story of a man who, after getting over a rough patch and making back some money, actually paid back the aid that the government had given him, a man who constantly risked himself in order to help those around him and, as simple and blunt as it may seem, did the right thing with every aspect of his life. If nothing else, this movie needs to be seen so that we as a people, as a community of the world, can know that someone like this existed. There were honestly good people, there was at least one, and this was his life.
Too often we assume a base layer of evil when dealing with other human beings, and too often we’re correct in our assumption. The fact of the matter is that if you wish to deal with a decent human being, you’re for the most part shit out of luck. This is our default setting when dealing with other people, when dealing with other travelers on this road of life, and we’re so scared to give anyone else a hand or the benefit of the doubt that, just maybe, this person or that person might just have an ounce of humanity in their bodies, a dash of common decency. Cinderella Man shows us a man that, at his heart, in his actions, and in all of his glory or humiliation, was a fundamentally decent person in every aspect. Ron Howard, in showing us his story, has not only achieved as a director, and helped levitate the whole of the film experience to a greater degree than I’m sure he ever thought he could with his collected works, but takes the place of Braddock for this generation. He gives us hope, in this film. He gives us reason to believe in people, reason to believe in effort and kindness, and, ultimately, reason to believe in life.
This is the true power of film, and this is the true power of film used as it should be. There are few examples these days as good as Cinderella Man to show us how much a film can lift us up. Luckily, just when you think film is down, people like Ron Howard can help it to come back swinging.
Assailin' Australian... I'm rarely so pleased with myself.
...
Cinderella Man
The most interesting thing about Ron Howard’s Cinderella Man, the painfully uplifting film about the life and struggles of boxer James J. Braddock, is the fact that a movie with Russell Crowe physically battling other men in a ring for the amusement and spectacle of a cheering, goading crowd actually ends up being less like Gladiator than Kingdom of Heaven.
Ron Howard, perhaps falling into the old filmmaker practice of choosing and sticking with a quintessential actor (and what would be wrong with that, if he did?), has decided to go with the Assailin’ Australian for the lead, and whatever you want to say about Russell, the man brings something to a role that has everybody cheering for him. Hell, even in Virtuosity I was more sympathetic towards his computer-program-cum-transubstantiated-psychopath than Denzel’s hero-generica. You want Russell to win. It really doesn’t matter what he’s doing. Captaining a ship? Fighting the German hordes? Going up against big tobacco? Please do well, Mr. Crowe. Please be our hope.
Ron Howard is also beginning to come into his own as a director. Sure, it can be said that he came into his own a long, long time ago, having headed up such canonical and widely popular and successful films as A Beautiful Mind, Apollo 13, Backdraft, and, to a lesser extent, Willow. But Howard’s real directing expertise, and his concept of creating a heartfelt, entertaining film is even beginning to betray him, and a personal style that borders on artistic outside of utility is undeniably beginning to form.
Ron has these wonderful little touches that, taken by themselves, seem meaningless and unimportant. Indeed, during the film, the thing that makes these moments just the opposite of inconsequential is the fact that you don’t notice them, you may never notice them in a thousand viewings of the film. But they are there, and if you do notice them, you start to form the picture in your mind of the true craftsman that he’s becoming. The example that springs readily to mind (as it is perhaps the most evident in this particular film) is the shot in Cinderella Man just before James’ fancy dinner scene in which the camera follows a waiter carrying a large, silver-domed serving tray out from the kitchen. The camera looks down on the reflective surface of the serving dish and we see the ceiling above and the doorway the waiter passes through faded into the reflected distance. What you don’t see, and what you may not even notice you’re supposed to be seeing, is the camera pointed directly into the polished silver.
Little technological and CG effect-oriented touches here and there add so much to Howard films, and people take the direction for granted. They never think that Opie’s really doing anything substantial on the screen, that he’s more of an actor’s director than an audience’s, but he has every bit the artistry of any other director on his level today, save for the fact that his particular artistry is subtle and seldom noticed.
I mean Howard’s. Ron Howard’s.
Hee.
Another addition Howard makes to his visuals is the not-quite-immediately-noticeable flashes of x-ray during some of the fight scenes. Occasionally, when someone is giving or receiving a damaging blow, an image will flash across the screen depicting, in medical specifics, the destruction being done upon impact. The first time we see this is when Braddock breaks his hand on the head of a another boxer where, for a moment so brief you scarcely realize you saw it, a bone schematic of hazy blue-against-white is flashed at the moment of collision and you are able to see the hand snap, even able to see a expressionistic piece of bone, perhaps just manifested pain, breaking away from the wrist and flying into the air. The same happens later, and more obviously, when Max Baer (the obvious and easily despicable villain of the film) is working on Braddock’s ribs, where it then flashes repeatedly to the cracked and shifting cage. Excellent little expressive affectations such as this are helping to truly shape Howard’s vision as a director, and is moving his stance in the artistic community from skilled craftsman to true artist.
And yet this is not the most important aspect of the film. Cinderella Man tells us a story; a story that, as a society separated from this experience by generations and a collective apathy toward our social history, we may never have learned or care to find out about in any other medium. Read about it? We don’t have the time and we don’t have the inclination to find out about a boxer during the depression, when there’s so much more happening nowadays (Survivor, The Jacko Trial, whether or not Paris Hilton currently has a cock in her mouth).
Ron Howard has made a film that tells the story of a man that we should know. We should know, we should be aware, we should find out in our lives about a man that lived once, a man that definitely did exist and lived this life, not because it’s a compelling story and will fill seats, not because it’s exciting and it’s the story of someone who raised the hopes of a nation. It’s the story of a man who took care of his family above all else, who never resorted to stealing, no matter how bad things got, and would gladly have his hand (and worse) broken just to provide for those that he loved. This is the story of a man who, after getting over a rough patch and making back some money, actually paid back the aid that the government had given him, a man who constantly risked himself in order to help those around him and, as simple and blunt as it may seem, did the right thing with every aspect of his life. If nothing else, this movie needs to be seen so that we as a people, as a community of the world, can know that someone like this existed. There were honestly good people, there was at least one, and this was his life.
Too often we assume a base layer of evil when dealing with other human beings, and too often we’re correct in our assumption. The fact of the matter is that if you wish to deal with a decent human being, you’re for the most part shit out of luck. This is our default setting when dealing with other people, when dealing with other travelers on this road of life, and we’re so scared to give anyone else a hand or the benefit of the doubt that, just maybe, this person or that person might just have an ounce of humanity in their bodies, a dash of common decency. Cinderella Man shows us a man that, at his heart, in his actions, and in all of his glory or humiliation, was a fundamentally decent person in every aspect. Ron Howard, in showing us his story, has not only achieved as a director, and helped levitate the whole of the film experience to a greater degree than I’m sure he ever thought he could with his collected works, but takes the place of Braddock for this generation. He gives us hope, in this film. He gives us reason to believe in people, reason to believe in effort and kindness, and, ultimately, reason to believe in life.
This is the true power of film, and this is the true power of film used as it should be. There are few examples these days as good as Cinderella Man to show us how much a film can lift us up. Luckily, just when you think film is down, people like Ron Howard can help it to come back swinging.
Assailin' Australian... I'm rarely so pleased with myself.
posted by DeadLanguage at 8:25 PM
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