Now this might seem hypocritical, coming from someone who loves World War 2 dramas and turns up for more comic book movies than he probably should but, unless you have the word ‘Creed’ in your title, I really do think we, as a collective filmic culture, have run out of road on boxing movies, especially boxing biopics. No matter how interesting the backstory, how unique the fighter, recent mediocrities like The Fire Inside and Christy have shown that not even flipping the gender focus can really energise this most tired of genres. To add further fuel to this fire now is Rowan Athale’s Giant, which has what should be a fascinating lead – a Yemeni-British kid from Sheffield showboats his way through the ‘90s to become world champion – and still manages to feel entirely played out from start to finish.
Perhaps the problem is partly one of focus. Giant doesn’t actually quite put its fighter, ‘Prince’ Naseem Hamed (Amir El-Masry) in its lead role, instead giving that to his Irish trainer Brendan Ingle (Pierce Brosnan). Brendan did train Naseem into a champion, but also used him for his own ends, both financial (he negotiated his contract when Naz was just 12 years old) and ego-driven (doing a lot of vicarious living through the Prince’s victories), ultimately ending in an acrimonious split between trainer and fighter.
While it certainly has specifics unique to it, Giant’s story, in its broader strokes, is just painfully familiar. Every beat here you’ve seen dozens of times before, from the rough and racist Sheffield streets of Naz’s childhood to his growing arrogance as he racks up win after win to even the quasi-malign influence of wideboy promoter Frank Warren (Toby Stephens, really hamming it up), and it’s just all too samey to ever really care. Brosnan and El-Masry are ok leads but hardly elevate the material; Giant really needed a proper *performance* at its heart to have this story cut through the noise, and it just doesn’t.
Visually, at least, there’s a bit more going on here. Athale’s approach to the fights is refreshingly free of slow-mo, Naz’s limber and insultingly dance-y style kept as disarmingly quick as it was in reality, while his showman’s flair is reflected in the bright, popping colour palette. Most films set in northern England, especially period pieces, use that as an excuse to just be grey and brown, and you’ve got to respect Athale for ignoring that tradition entirely.
As far as an example of the genre goes, Giant doesn’t exactly do anything heinously wrong, but there aren’t many deader horses to beat in cinema than boxing movies, and so it also doesn’t do enough right to really engage. As a piece of (already largely forgotten) sporting history, Naseem Hamed’s story of being the first Muslim British champion is certainly a fascinating one but, unless you’re a die-hard fan of British boxing, Giant simply doesn’t tell it in a zippy or impactful enough way to make you care.
Jack Blackwell – Film Reviews 