I will be the first to admit that I have never been entirely into the act of boxing. There's something about investing so much in two fighters, both emotionally and monetarily, given most fights are hefty Pay-Per-View matches or require a hefty premium channel. My interests seem entirely disconnected in picking a corner and praying this two piece game of chess ends in my favor of one battered and bruised being hitting the floor before the other. Outside of the millions made from entering the ring, why are these two putting gloves to flesh, blood to mat? Is there a deep context to this fight that consists of boiling blood laying so much on the line? I suppose I'm the wrong kind of person to yell and jeer over timed left hooks and right jabs, inflated egos and arrogant taunts. That's why I feel Southpaw works; it showcases the tightly shot act of boxing as well as the grandiose spectacle and grounded story behind the fighters with characters we are allowed to find hope in, even if we can't entirely relate.

Since boxing is a sport centered on spectacle and athleticism, it makes sense for a director like Antoine Fuqua to take the reigns, given his tendency to ask why rather than simply say because. From films like Training Day and The Equalizer, Fuqua tends to place a moral compass into the center of his spectacles, for better or worse, directing a typical crime-drama or shooter that opts to mix it up and fight southpaw. It's with this stance that we're offered an investment in the blood-shed, from south-central LA showdowns and hardware store confrontations to Billy Hope (Jake Gyllenhaal) fighting for more than a dollar. Showing us the rise and fall of Hope, we are put through a training regimen of tropes and sports clichés that jar and obscure its tonal shifts, giving us a film that feels torn between a desire to be in a heavier weight class. Southpaw places elegantly hushed jabs reminiscent of Ron Howard's Cinderella Man before exploding with a disruptive hook that careens our interest and focus away from the intimacy, falling hard into the worn genre it's working with.

Forest Whitaker gives a poised performance as Hope's apprehensive trainer Tick Wills, who is either a chronic liar with a dark past or an alcoholic with a penchant for fibbing. The relationship carved out of these dueling ideologies may be tattered, but it's done so with grace and zeal from two outstanding actors that it feels almost novel. The real heart of Southpaw comes from Rachel McAdams as Hope's wife Maureen and their daughter Leila (Oona Laurence). Watching McAdams shift between Hope's tough ringside companion to worried wife is seamless, working methodically to play counterpoint to Billy's wild side, one that must be tamed in order for him to regain custody of his daughter once the gloves come off. Newcomer Oona Laurence propels the film forward into the third act with a subdued power that gives us rhyme and reason to root for Hope, even if we can't help but blame him for everything. It's a story-arc that has been beaten like a dead boxer, and it certainly makes the second act a tough one to chew, but given the caliber of acting it's a mouthful worth grappling with. While Southpaw won't break new ground in a breed of sports films that beg for our impassioned attention, it's a worthy spectacle that gives more life than it loses, filling an often coarse act with tenderness and finesse.