IMDb #191 Review: Million Dollar Baby (1994)

Source: Wikipedia

Can a thirty-something trailer-trash Southern gal become the world champion welterweight prizefighter through sheer grit? Well, depends. If you ask Clint Eastwood (director/actor/composer), the answer is a resonant, growly, "Depends."

As a grizzled ex-trainer, old Clint runs an ailing failing gym packed with wannabe fighters. A perky lady shows up, punches bags, knowing nothing about the sport. So Clint proffers gruff advice. Morgan Freeman, the kindly janitor/ex-fighter/Magic Negro archetype, offers more direct assistance, such as a secondhand speed bag and a movie narration.

Armed with nothing but optimism, the girl plunks into the ring. Being a natural heroine, she dominates.

Clint, who's learning Gaelic for no apparent reason, dubs her with a Gaelic moniker, which only gets translated when the narrative decides it's expedient. The fake Irish lass accumulates a measure of fame. Success hardly touches her family, a pack of lazy ungrateful shitheads who just want her money.

The real growth arc occurs between Clint and his champ. They're a convenient match--grouch and sweetheart, old man and young woman, daughter issues and daddy issues.

The championship fight happens almost as an afterthought.

Like Rocky, the quintessential boxing movie, the goal isn't winning, but proving yourself. Good, because she's got nothing left but the fights. Therefore, the anticlimax doesn't depict the final fight, but the consequences, of success or failure or whatever. And the consequences hurt.

If you're looking for a goofy uplifting live-action cartoon, watch a Rocky sequel. If you're looking for a manic-depressive gender-flipped *original* Rocky...our boy Clint might be able to help you out.

132 minutes.