Sydney Sweeney's lackluster performance in "Christy" renders David Michôd's directorial effort a forgettable exercise in cliché. The film's uninspired portrayal of the world's first female boxing champion in the 1990s and early 2000s fails to deliver on its promising subject matter, instead relying on tired tropes to tell a story that could have been powerful but isn't.
Sweeney's character, Christy Salters Martin, is a blank slate with whom the audience struggles to connect. Her transformation from high school basketball enthusiast to boxing champion feels like a distant memory, with no discernible arc or growth throughout the film. In contrast, Ben Foster's portrayal of her ghoulish husband-manager Jim Martin is more nuanced, if only because he gets to play him with some semblance of depth.
The real tragedy here lies in the wasted potential of Michôd's subject matter. The true crime elements and themes of domestic abuse and coercive control are glossed over or avoided altogether, replaced by an overly simplistic narrative that relies on Christy's rise to fame as a way to mask her personal struggles. When she does lose – which is rare in this film, with every victory feeling like a chore – the movie dodges confrontation instead of embracing it.
This lack of subtlety is particularly jarring given Sweeney's impressive track record in other films, including "Reality". Here, however, she's saddled with a lead role that fails to engage on any meaningful level. The film's refusal to show Christy's moment of defeat – even against the formidable Laila Ali – feels like a cowardly attempt to avoid confronting the complexities of her story.
Ultimately, "Christy" feels like a missed opportunity. With a more nuanced approach and a deeper understanding of its themes, this could have been a powerful exploration of one woman's journey in a male-dominated sport. Instead, it settles for tired clichés and an unfulfilling viewing experience.
Sweeney's character, Christy Salters Martin, is a blank slate with whom the audience struggles to connect. Her transformation from high school basketball enthusiast to boxing champion feels like a distant memory, with no discernible arc or growth throughout the film. In contrast, Ben Foster's portrayal of her ghoulish husband-manager Jim Martin is more nuanced, if only because he gets to play him with some semblance of depth.
The real tragedy here lies in the wasted potential of Michôd's subject matter. The true crime elements and themes of domestic abuse and coercive control are glossed over or avoided altogether, replaced by an overly simplistic narrative that relies on Christy's rise to fame as a way to mask her personal struggles. When she does lose – which is rare in this film, with every victory feeling like a chore – the movie dodges confrontation instead of embracing it.
This lack of subtlety is particularly jarring given Sweeney's impressive track record in other films, including "Reality". Here, however, she's saddled with a lead role that fails to engage on any meaningful level. The film's refusal to show Christy's moment of defeat – even against the formidable Laila Ali – feels like a cowardly attempt to avoid confronting the complexities of her story.
Ultimately, "Christy" feels like a missed opportunity. With a more nuanced approach and a deeper understanding of its themes, this could have been a powerful exploration of one woman's journey in a male-dominated sport. Instead, it settles for tired clichés and an unfulfilling viewing experience.