Christy
Film
David Michôd attempts to enter the storied sports filmography with his latest film, Christy. Just as its title would suggest, it is a singular film about Christy Martin, the greatest female boxer and the woman who put women's boxing on the map in the first place. Played by a terrific Sydney Sweeney showcasing her range and physicality once again, Michôd's film has all the narrative juice it could ask for with Martin's incredible story. Unfortunately, Christy not only follows in lock step with every other sports film we've seen but also doesn't express any curiosity or insight into Martin's story outside of a timeline of events. Resulting in a rather underwhelming film that lacks the punch its subject was known for.
Co-writers Mirrah Foulkes and Michôd begin the film in Christy's young adulthood, in rural West Virginia, where she enters a boxing contest for fun, and knocks out the competition. Eventually, she receives a call about taking boxing seriously, which introduces her to Jim Martin (Ben Foster), who in turn becomes her trainer, her husband, and eventually the man who attempts to kill her. Martin's story alone, on paper, is a sensational tale. It reads like a classic American sports story where Christy defies the odds and, through all the gaslighting and cycles of violence from her abusive husband, continues to fight. But Foulkes and Michôd's sprawling, decades-spanning screenplay displays a real lack of curiosity into who Christy is and why/how she fights inside and outside the ring. Instead, Christy paces like a checklist of Wikipedia facts that just need a little time on screen to be marked as done.
There's so much depth to Christy's character that remains untouched, even as hard as Sweeney tries to give depth to the on-screen persona. Her physicality is on full display with her transformation and some wonderfully choreographed boxing scenes that make you feel the weight of her punches. The slower emotional moments are also impeccably done by Sweeney, delivering wry smiles or looks of terror as the film creeps into its abusive dynamics revolving around Jim's manipulation and violence.
Yet Foulkes and Michôd refuse to explore Christy's complexity. Take her first scenes, where she's sneakily sleeping with her girlfriend Rosie (Jess Gabor), but her family is well aware and confronts her during a terrifyingly awkward and homophobic family dinner. Christy's dad, Johnny (Ethan Embry), is a quieter presence, while her mom Joyce (Merritt Wever) aggressively suggests conversion camp. When she's in the ring calling her opponents "dykes," the lack of exploration into her being closeted, her parents' role in it, or her aggression being a product of self-hatred is the film's biggest weakness. Failing to give Christy more depth while also limiting Foster's Jim by not examining his manipulation of Christy's psychology.
This shallowness renders the film disjointed. Sweeney and Foster deliver strong individual performances that never cohere; they feel like actors in separate films, never quite connecting. Antony Partos' low-fi score tries to bind things together but often distracts instead of enhances. However, if there is a moment of emotional confluence, it's the final 20 minutes or so. It is an absolutely shocking finale that will shake you to your core, only to then stir your soul with Christy's resilience. Only for you to think that you've settled down, and Partos' score finally erupts into a triumphant blitz that overlays the end credits. It is practically a perfect ending for a sports film, but the over two-hour runtime to get there is exhausting and at times boring. Michôd seems to have succumbed to the same things I disliked about The King. Wasting a strong lead performance, Sweeney here and Timothée Chalamet in The King, but also creating a meandering film that fails to capture your attention due to a lack of deeper exploration of its subjects.
Froth
For Christy I decided to go with Fremont Brewing's-it's been a while since I was back at my old stomping grounds-Field to Ferment Fresh Hop Pale. This brew has a strong brightness to it, which is reflected in a nice crisp drinking experience, and the grapefruit and orange zest compliment the overall feel. It doesn't pack a punch in terms of alcoholic content, it's "only" 6%, but it swings enough flavor and dank aroma to knock just about anyone out. That's not to say you'll literally get knocked out, I'm just workshopping some boxing puns in here. While I haven't historically been the biggest fan of Fremont Brewing's fresh hop brews, this one was quite delightful. Equally balanced, refreshing, and delicious I actually enjoyed it much more than I was expecting, which makes it one hell of a beer.
