Christy

Directed by David Michôd, Christy tells the true-life tale of Sydney Sweeney’s title figure and her efforts at becoming a top-ranked boxer – despite the interference of her trainer/husband (Ben Foster’s Jim Martin). Filmmaker Michôd, armed with his and Mirrah Foulkes’ screenplay, delivers a fairly typical sports biopic that fares best within its brisk, engaging first half, and there’s little doubt that the movie benefits from the appealing rags-to-riches narrative and Sweeney’s impressive (and thoroughly convincing) turn as the compelling central character. It’s clear, then, that Christy’s hold on the viewer is tested by a rather sluggish (and overlong) midsection that contains little in the way of surprises (ie Foster’s figure is painted as a complete sleaze right from the outset, so the trajectory of Christy and Jim’s relationship is hardly a surprise), with the fairly absurd 125 minute running time doing little to alleviate the often aggressively conventional atmosphere. The emotionally-charged final stretch isn’t, as a result, able to pack the punch for which Michôd is surely striving, and it’s ultimately clear that Christy works best as a decent showcase for Sweeney’s phenomenal performance.

**1/2 out of ****