Despite its title, The Boxer might be the antithetical pugilist-movie. There is a boxer, Danny Flynn (Daniel Day-Lewis), and he does box, a little. At the same time, Flynn’s boxing is less a profession, and more a metaphor for the waning but never dying conflict between Irish Catholics and Protestants. And, it feels as if this is where the film fell short on critical and audience acclaim. Characteristically, the boxing genre is beloved; perhaps because of the contradiction within sanctioned violence that allows rage to be articulated through a surrogate party who moves fluidly along confined canvas while marrying aggression and grace, or perhaps because boxing films provide the emersion and evolution of a solitary being from an underdog to a champion a la Rocky, The Fighter, or Million Dollar Baby.
Regardless of our reasons for indulging in this genre, The Boxer shies away from the carrot that tempts us. There is no montage. There is no emergence of an underdog. Rather, Flynn was the “best boxer in Ulster” before his incarceration for his involvement with the IRA in Belfast. As the film opens, it’s clear this desire has never faded: Flynn shadow boxes in the courtyard before being sardonically asked “fourteen years wasn’t enough time for you?” Initially, we’re led to believe that the entirety of his fourteen years was spent in training, and because of this, we’re looking for his assimilation into boxing clubs and a climb through the ranks until he claims boxing’s top prize as Heavyweight Champion of the World. But this doesn’t happen. Because The Boxer isn’t about boxing – not really. In other boxing films, the narrative arc demonstrates that a will is necessary to overcome the domineering, oppressive challenge. The Boxer avoids this rout. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about demonstrating courage by knowing the limits in a situation that is rife with physical harm. It doesn’t endorse acquiescing or giving up, but it encourages the recognition of the other fighter, something that is illustrated best when Flynn fights a Nigerian heavyweight, but refuses to finish the match when his opponent is bleeding profusely and dazed. As Flynn walks from the ring, the Nigerian is propped up by two trainers, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his hand raised in victory. The Boxer isn’t about the victory so much as it’s about knowing when the fight needs to end.
Heavy handed metaphor? Admittedly, and with a lesser actor than Lewis and a lesser actress than Emily Watson (Maggie), the film could have tanked beyond belief in that it often dances on a fine line between tempered restraint and hyperbole. Ironically, some of these precarious moments arise during scenes between Watson and Lewis.
Prior to his prison sentence, eighteen-year old Danny was in love with Maggie, the daughter of Joe Hamill (Brian Cox), the head of the Belfast IRA faction. When Danny goes to jail, Maggie naturally moves on and marries an unseen man who is also eventually incarcerated for his role in IRA activities. As Danny surfaces, the flame is rekindled and a forbidden love story blooms – not just because Maggie’s married (something that seems to be forgotten at the end of the movie), but because she has a teenage son, Liam, who is witness to his mother’s temptation with transgression and is none too pleased about it (something else that seems to be forgotten by the end).
However, the wonky narrative isn’t as troubling as the expository scenes between Danny and Maggie. While well-acted, they seem a bit forced and develop inorganically, as if a love story – or a repeated clarification of a love story — needed to be woven into the fabric. Granted, prison snuffed the progression of their love and makes Maggie a more “dangerous fucking woman,” but the redundant interjections and exclamations that they “can’t do this,” “this is fucking ridiculous,” and “all this talk…I love you” are a bit heavy-handed, particularly because they are delivered in three scenes over fifteen minutes as if the audience was oblivious to the forbidden love – or needed to be reminded of it.
Admittedly, the introduction of love makes sense in a genre that often tackles the “fight for what’s yours” trope; at the same time, The Boxer often ascribes to the theory that “you need to know when to stop fighting.” Perhaps this ascription is only applicable to physical or gun violence and not when it involves personal desire breaking up a family. Is Flynn’s interloping made acceptable by Maggie’s belief that “my marriage was over before Liam was even born?” I’m not so sure about this. Does Flynn’s refusal to name names make his time served more heroic than Maggie’s husband – who clearly also didn’t name names, given that he didn’t “get a fucking bullet in the head”? Not so sure about this either.
Either way, Lewis should be applauded for delivering yet another characteristically solid performance. He might be one of three actors who can believably emote anger and frustration through the line “just fucking tell me” without raising his voice to convey such emotions through volume. Director Jim Sheridan (In the Name of the Father) should also be credited with applying a different lens to a boxing film that imagines the bout between two men as both a symbol of peace and a lesson for the masses. If not the current generation then, ideally, the subsequent.
