20. “Tyson” (2008)
There are many different ways to approach a story of a massive sporting celebrity’s fall from grace — on one end of the spectrum, we get the astounding work of sociological investigation that was this year’s “OJ: Made in America.” But all the way at the other end, there nestles James Toback‘s “Tyson,” a far more intimate and slanted film in which the sole voice heard, outside of in archive footage, is Tyson’s own lisp. In a series of frank, often surprisingly funny and inadvertently revealing interview segments, we get a fragmentary picture not so much of Tyson, but of how he sees himself. This perspective might be a bitter pill to swallow considering his infamy as a convicted rapist, an abusive husband, a dirty, ear-biting fighter and so on. But how much it succeeds in exculpating the man — and how much it is even designed to — is another question: there’s no doubt Tyson is humanized, and the stories the apparently reformed and contrite ex-champion tells of his background and the formative events of his life do elicit sympathy. But there are also moments when Tyson, who comes across as a great deal more thoughtful and self-aware than the cartoon of testosterone-fueled antagonism and aggression that had been his public image, seems a little too obviously to be playing a role. He’s narrating a story whose heart lies somewhere between genuine contrition, finger-pointing blame and the demands of the howlingly massive ego that the sport at that level seems to foster, and the fascinating thing is that at the end of its 88 minutes, you might have a completely different take from the next guy.
19. “Kids Return” (1996)
There’s a deep irony in the fact that Takeshi Kitano‘s brush with mortality (he was almost killed in a motorcycle accident) saw him move away from the idea of the ecstatic death that he had pursued in “Sonatine,” for example, to embrace the less glorious, more repetitive, more circular rhythms of life. “Kids Return” as a result is undoubtedly one of his warmest and most nostalgic films, though that’s not saying much for the hugely unsentimental, often rather hard-bitten cynicism that characterizes his output elsewhere. Following two friends Shinji (Masanobu Ando) and Masaru (Ken Kaneko) who are the class bullies until one of their victims has them beaten up, it’s really a story of diverging destinies that are nonetheless inescapably intertwined. The pair take up boxing in response, but only the quieter Shinji shows any real talent, so while he pursues a career in the ring, Masaru drifts away and joins the Yakuza. The boxing and training scenes actually comprise relatively little of his moving brotherhood drama, but Kitano brings his typical authenticity to them, building to a cross-cut (anti) climax that underlines the touching symbiosis that exists between the friends. For once, Kitano even forgives his characters for their fuckups and allows them a measure of hope, if not exactly redemption — possibly why this film was the first of his to really connect in his native Japan.
18. “Somebody Up There Likes Me” (1956)
It almost seems like you can’t be a true movie star until you’ve stepped into the ring, specifically a male movie star: Kirk Douglas, De Niro, Russell Crowe, Jake Gyllenhaal and Miles Teller — they’ve all either done it or are doing it, and most are met with plaudits for their performances, even when the films fall flat (hi, “Southpaw“!). James Dean must’ve figured this out, because he was meant to put on the shorts and gloves in “Somebody Up There Likes Me” to play troubled boxing star Rocky Graziano, who started in the sport to make cash after fleeing juvenile crimes and deserting from the army. But Dean died before he could take on the role, and the responsibility fell to relative unknown Paul Newman, in what proved to be a star-making role. The film’s been rather superseded by later, more incisive movies, and it never quite transcends its studio melodrama generic trappings, but it’s still an efficient, gripping potboiler, mostly thanks to the reliable hands at the helm; director Robert Wise (two for two when it comes to boxing films), writer Ernest Lehmann, and Newman’s gripping performance. Early on, the actor rarely got the plaudits of contemporaries like Brando, but he proves here that from the beginning, he deserved to be mentioned among the greats.
17. “Boxing Gym” (2010)
The ultimate corrective to all the manufactured underdog stories, rags-to-riches arcs and epic tales of hubris and corruption that make up, well, probably every single other entry on this list, Frederick Wiseman‘s simple, immersive documentary is about the real-life experience of boxing far from the headlines. Told in the venerable documentarian’s trademark uninterrupted, seemingly unmanipulated, observational style, “Boxing Gym” is largely non-narrative — or rather, its essayistic structure allows you to create mini arcs of narrative where you will. It traces the comings and goings around Lord’s Gym, an Austin institution established by retired pro boxer Richard Lord, who presides over his small dominion with authority but also calm, which contrasts with the grunting of trainees and the impact of glove on body, which Wiseman’s camera captures in a fashion that is both visceral and oddly rhythmic. It’s the hum of ordinariness in this place and the effortless, unremarked-upon diversity of its clientele — not just in terms of ethnicity, but also gender, age, social class and fitness level — that becomes, as so often in Wiseman’s films, almost holy. Over its brief 91-minute runtime, it’s a gentle, simple, gorgeous slice of the conversation, training regimens, sparring bouts, camaraderie and unshowy dedication that make up about 98% of the boxing community’s interaction, and get about .01% of the press.
16. “The Hurricane” (1999)
Boxing fans who knew the story of Rubin “Hurricane” Carter were stirred up when they learned that director Norman Jewison practically deified the troubled middleweight. The film is centered around the very-dodgy case that sent Carter to prison for murder despite faulty evidence, but Carter’s real-life criminal background is so whitewashed that even the casual viewer would be hard-pressed to believe Carter was consistently at the wrong place at the wrong time. This is mostly due to Jewison seemingly taking cues from the infamous Bob Dylan song (which is an undoubtedly fantastic and furious eight-minute case for Carter’s innocence), and depicts an evil and racist justice system conspiring against a lone black athlete a bit too bluntly. This makes “The Hurricane” an imbalanced picture, but lost in these flaws is a possible career-best performance by Denzel Washington. And therein lies the main reason we’re still talking about it. It’s one of those rare boxing films that’s more court-case-prison drama than bouting in the ring, but through Washington’s titanic portrayal, the audience feels the struggles of a prizefighter beyond the ropes of his comfort zone, and reminds us all that sometimes a boxer’s greatest battle is fought outside the ring.
