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CRUZ |
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of 'MILLION DOLLAR BABY'
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It's not perfect, but 'Baby'
often hits the mark well
By RAPHAELLA CRUZ
of TheColumnists.com
My debut in the competitive world of amateur boxing
occurred in February of 1996 when I entered the regional New
England Golden Gloves championships after only a few months of
intense training.
Back in the 90’s the idea of a woman boxing was still ludicrous, unheard of, unimaginable! I was constantly questioned as to why I would want to participate in such an endeavor, the recurring questions being: “Why would you want to ruin your pretty face?” or “break your nose?” or “waste your time?” or “What about your boobs?”
Those questions are echoed at the beginning of Clint Eastwood's film “Million Dollar Baby,” when Morgan Freeman, who plays Eddie, an ex-fighter-turned-cornerman, describes “the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody sees but you.” Although the answer may never be made clear, the paradox is repeated several times: “Everything in boxing is backwards.” And therein lies the answer.
What could be more backwards, after all, than a young, intelligent, feminine woman “risking it all” with little to show for it besides black eyes and broken noses. She's rarely taken seriously or even noticed, and is often mocked and laughed at instead?
Is it not backwards to think that the nurturing woman–the object of desire--would delve into the depths of danger, of battle, of earning respect through blood and sweat? After all, the movie tells us, “Boxing is about respect, earning it for yourself and taking it away from the other guy [or girl].”
Why do it? Perhaps the answer lies in a woman’s ability to be sensitive, to show emotion, and to overcome hardship in order to survive. There's another obvious answer that applies to most boxers of either gender: Through boxing one can achieve fame, notoriety even, championship belts, and money. Knowing all of that, there is still the question of “Yeah, but, why?”
If you're a boxer, they say, instead of running from the pain, you step into it. This sounds like childbirth to me, and although in labor there is rarely a choice about stepping into the pain, the choice is null and void in boxing as well. No one boxes because they want to. They box because they have to. For Maggie Fitzgerald (Hilary Swank), the aspiring female fighter of the movie, it was simple: “I ain’t got nothin’ else.”
Sometimes the best way to deliver a punch is to step back, they say. But step back too far, and you’re not fighting. The only way to be a successful boxer, male or female, is to go forward and to go all the way.
Like its predecessor films about women boxers, “Knock-Out” and “Girl Fight,” “Million Dollar Baby” is the story of a lonely, hard-up, misunderstood young woman who finds her strength in boxing, backed by iron will and relentless determination. As these films become progressively more realistic and also, better, there is still some way to go before they'll be showing the true reality of the boxing underworld.
The movie’s weakness lies in the development of secondary, comical characters. The other boxers at the gym are portrayed as nasty, heartless barbarians who pick on a mentally challenged member named "Danger"–a wildly over-energized, skinny orphan who wears tights under his shorts. The teasing eventually escalates to a scene where Danger is brutally beaten by the other boxers.
Maybe this happens in some boxing gyms, but if it does, I can’t imagine it. Among many critical lessons learned in boxing, I was always taught that what’s learned in the ring stays in the ring. I can’t recall whether I was verbally coached about respecting other boxers, or whether it is innate, but one feels compassion and reverence for every other boxer who dares to travel upon the same basic journey of conquering one’s demons.
The film overcomes this flaw when Danger reappears later in the movie, realizing that one “loss” is no reason to quit, proving himself to be resilient, the mark of a champion.
Maggie’s mother, portrayed by Margot Martindale, is more caricature than character. Martindale overacts, yet under-achieves in trying to make the lazy, uncaring, money-grubbing trailer trash woman real to us. Her emotional impact in the story is minimized by the poor character development.
It is also a little difficult to believe that ANY boxer could have 12 straight first-round knock-outs. But Eastwood makes it almost credible by using comic relief and showing, from fight to fight, less action and eventually only heads bouncing on canvas.
The choreography is well executed and the actors actually box, which is refreshing. Too often in boxing movies, viewers are forced to use their imagination as they watch actors dance around, landing fake blows, their sweat coming from a spray bottle and their wounds bleeding with what looks like ketchup. But in this movie the blood is viscous and black, its true color when it streams from a broken nose.
I can recall the beginning of my own boxing career, where officials (all male) were so afraid of women actually hitting each other that they would come in the dressing room before a bout, confidentially, one by one, advising us to put on a good show but “please, don’t hit each other.” This movie breaks that barrier, showing knock-out punches that you can feel, and sweat that is almost palpable. Were it not for the long, braided pony tails and flashy sequined boxing shorts, viewers could probably forget that they are watching women and not men.
As is well documented by now, the film takes a tragic turn, which leads to deeper, ethical issues that I won't go into for fear of spoiling the ending. I can say, though, that Maggie has her chance to be somebody, and to be remembered as a boxer of championship quality.
"Million Dollar Baby" does give an accurate representation of not only what a woman can get from boxing, but also what she brings to it.
Maggie has to overcome the notion that women who box contribute to the ‘freak show.’ In one scene, her mother confesses, “It hurts me to tell you this, but people are laughing at you.” That's not what we see, though. We see instead the transformation of a lost, greasy-haired young woman into a real fighter with the heart of a champion.
We also see Frankie (Clint
Eastwood), her lonely, stubborn manager-trainer submitting to
love and tenderness for the first time in many years--and learning
to return it. He expresses a sense of responsibility for his perceived
mistakes and even his shortcomings as a coach.
In my own experience as a coach–which became my focus at
the end of my boxing career inside the ring–the sense of
responsibility, of almost parenting, is the most challenging
aspect, though it comes most naturally. That attachment between
a coach and student-boxer can lead to a deep sense of loss manifested
in many different forms.
To begin with, most boxers quit before ever stepping into a ring.
The training is rigorous, difficult, taxing, and one must sacrifice
a great deal to keep up with its demands. So a coach is repeatedly
called upon to engage in relationships, most of which will never
last.
Then, when a student does
move ahead, compete, win, and lose, the bond becomes increasingly
stronger. Boxers and coaches travel together, spend hours training
together, waiting during weigh-ins and so on. A good coach inevitably
becomes a role model and furthermore, a family member.
Finally, a coach’s job is to protect his fighter. What a
HUGE responsibity--the ultimately impossible responsibility--considering
the coach can never get in the ring during a fight! He must protect
from afar and so, at times, accidents happen while the coach
sits several feet away, powerless to perform his most basic function.
We see all this in the Frankie-Maggie relationship as he gradually
fills the role of father and she the daughter. That responsibility
ultimately weighs heavily on Frankie, who is really taking something
like that on for the first time in his life.
"Million Dollar Baby"
has lots to tell us about this shady world. It's at its best
in those dialogue-free moments when Eddie, the fallen contender
from the old days, pridefully watches Maggie working out alone
in the darkened gym, fired up by her love of the sport, gleefully
smiling at the speed bag as she attempts to annihilate it with
all the energy of aspiring youth.
©2005 by Raphaëlla Cruz. The photo from "Million Dollar Baby" is from the official website of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences and is courtesy of Warner Bros. The Oscar symbol and the term "Academy Awards" are trademarked property of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences. This column first posted Feb. 21, 2005.
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