Dubbed the "Cinderella Man" by Damon Runyon, James J. Braddock wasn't a great boxer; by most accounts, he wasn't even a very good one. But he was a bona fide underdog who climbed back from the bottom to win the world heavyweight championship, giving hope to every Depression-scarred American who felt down for the count. It's a great story, and director Ron Howard serves it up straight. Bergen County, N.J., 1928. Up-and-comer Braddock (Russell Crowe) has a loving wife (Renee Zellweger), a growing family and, thanks to a powerful right hook and tireless manager Joe Gould (Paul Giamatti), the world's light heavyweight title in his pocket. Five years later (compressed into a marvelous transition shot that marks this bland movie's one genuine inspiration), Braddock's career and the U.S. economy are both in ruins. Braddock's losing streak ends only when a broken right hand results in two no-contest decisions and the revocation of his boxing license. Home is now a squalid basement flat, and Braddock's close-knit family runs the very real risk of starving to death — if they don't freeze first. He's reduced to looking for work on the Jersey docks, public assistance and, finally, begging for change from his fair-weather friends at the Boxing Commission. Just when things couldn't get worse, Gould reappears: Promoters are looking for a last-minute replacement to fight "Corn" Griffin (Art Binkowski) at the Madison Square Garden Bowl. No one expects Braddock to win, but he does, the first in a string of unexpected upsets. On his way out of the arena, Braddock glimpses heavyweight title contender Max Baer (Craig Bierko), a notoriously brutal fighter who recently killed a man in the ring. Little does Braddrock realize it at the time, but his unexpected reversal of fortune will soon take him back to the Garden Bowl to face Baer for nothing less than the heavyweight championship. Ron Howard isn't about to make another THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON'T THEY? (1969), a Depression-era film that finds no real redemptive power in brutal public spectacle. Unlike Martin Scorsese, who dared us to care about RAGING BULL's (1980) bullying Jake LaMotta, Howard sees Braddock's story in simple, black-and-white terms; Howard loves Braddock because there's nothing not to like. Viewers who remember Max Baer may, however, take issue with the way the film treats this charismatic fighter. In 1933, Baer became an important symbol of Jewish strength when he faced off against Hitler's favored fighter, Max Schmeling, and while reducing Baer to a bloodthirsty villain makes it easier to root for Braddock, it's an unfair bit of character assassination. --Ken Fox
