"Day of the Fight" Punches Above Its Weight

The almost unavoidable instinct when faced with a “boxing movie” is to take a step back—aren’t they all too often a reconfiguring of tropes and cliches? Won’t there inevitably be some moral or practical quandary that our hero—and hero he is overwhelmingly likely to be, for it’s a  sport rife with symbolic gesture—is left to solve with his (or her), fists and wits?

 Let’s admit that pugilistic metaphors enforce themselves on a writer in a case like this (as evidenced by the above headline). At least I didn’t call it a knockout, and what saved me is that this debut feature by Jack Huston, right down to various story-concluding reveals, goes for the TKO, a filmmaking technical knockout. It piles up points by facing up to the expected story beats (no pun intended) and counterpunching (dammit--there I go!) through them.   

Glenn Kenny's New York Times Crtic's Choice appreciation caught it well: "An unabashed genre picture that manages to be both the kind of movie they supposedly don’t make like they used to, and also something bracingly fresh. It’s anchored by the lead actor, Michael C. Pitt, here ferocious and heart-stabbingly vulnerable in equal proportion."

To avoid spoilers about story points I’ll walk up to an early moment. A director casts Steve Buscemi in this film partly because he’s always ready with some understated acting brilliance in his vest pocket, but in Huston’s case because you know him from a winning run with “Boardwalk Empire" (five seasons from 2010-2014 on HBO)  as Nucky Thompson, a kind of merciless emperor of the Atlantic City boardwalk. Top-lined, and almost unnceasingly onscreen in "Day of the Fight," is Pitt, himself a kind of refugee from an intriguingly grim arc on "Boardwalk Empire," though for much of his career entrapped between leading man and character actor status. Convincingly battered, undeniably Brando-esque at points, he herewith re-enters a species of stardom, or at least hard-won respect.

Pitt’s Mikey Flannigan turns up at the Brooklyn docks where he was in large part raised by the kindness of his troubled, abusive father’s extended clan and cohort. The visit is part of the former boxing champ’s urban odyseey, a daylong stack of missions of care, which will happen at increasing pace--but not without emotionally significant flashbacks, such as the one we see after his meet-up with Buscemi's mentor figure as a murky puddle of rainwater swirls up a memory.

Shot in black and white (the etched grays of TV’s 2024 “Ripley” are not an inapt comparison) with pips of color, it’s a portrait of a down-and-out urban enclave that still never succumbs to sheerly knocked-down settings.

In a specimen few moments of dialog that somehow enforce sentiment without sentimentality, Pitt and Buscemi share occluded recollections. (The modern phrase would be, “find somebody to show they care for you deeply," but all the more believably when delivered with the restraint Buscemi clings to.)  We learn that Mikey’s mom was “a good egg” and in simple conversational strokes first here, then deeper into the story, discern that Mikey’s roundelay of neighbors and kin offers him empathy without judgment. (He can do regrets all by himself.)

 On first viewing—and it’s even better as pure cinema a second time because  you see the directorial strategies displaying like so much, if you will, filmed karigami. (I.e., Japanese paper folding for which, unlike origami, cuts are permitted to provide movement.)

Rather than the overthinking that a second dosage might churn up, I’ll put in here what I first expressed to the kind folks who enabled a viewing:

Got the chance to sit down with the film last night and I’m very much impressed. There are so many smart decisions made, first of all by the actors and of course their director, but also broadening out to the overall look, where the sticks are set, and the overall believability of settings and tone. 

The script dares a lot—there’s a lot to tell against the ticking clock, and despite the pace Mikey needs to keep, the story points are enmeshed in the  day’s challenges (and opportunities). We really feel for Mikey as he tries to articulate his complex and painful grappling with the deep themes of fatherhood, marriage, and the emotions left from a rough childhood and the tragedy that followed. 

        Of course those Brooklyn docks and neighborhoods are just a boat ride past the Statue of Liberty to Hoboken and the world of On the Waterfront (and the film was hot mostly in New Jersey’s waterside urban tracts), but I felt that resonance helped the movie find its depths, including a brave and revelatory turn by Mr. Pitt--and that could have gone the other way. 

        I have not (in many years at least) seen the Kubrick film that shares the title but from a precis that too is an obvious touchstone and probably worth discussing 1972's “Fat City” [of course made by Jack Huston’s grandfather John Huston] as well.

      Nicolette Robinson had me at her first look when she opened the door to Mikey and when he asks her about her singing one felt the answer would come [in the form of a tender, not to say heartbreaking cover  of John Fogerty’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”]  and it was so worth the wait and every instant of screen time--part of completely absorbing performance. 

      I did a Rolling Stone story of Sugar Ray Leonard at his peak, and although he was more an artist than a brawler, I had front row views of the sheer cruelty of the game, and in this film the fighting sequences capture the desperation of all that. The choice to show the fighters just after seems true to life, though often not fully recognized by fight fans. It’s a bit like the late moments of a whisper between Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson in “Lost in Translation”—we don’t hear what’s whispered but we know it’s deeper in them than we outsiders can ever fully grasp. 

 Part of the ballsiness of Huston’s attack—to use the word as guitar players might—is that we read the poignance of Mikey’s relationships through the sweetness of those he interacts with. We see: Buscemi with the quietest of mic drops; , Ron Perlman knocking down plywood sets (I exaggerate) as the gruff fisticuffs manager; Akbar the  jewelry fence making a deal, the shake-shop lady making his egg shots  for free (“You’re a knockout, you know that right?’ is his touching thank you); and the magnetic John Magaro as the smart aleck turned  priest showing how much heft a friendship can hold (“I’m not a monster,” Mikey chokes out before we know the what and why).

Add in: Robinson’s Jesica taunting our hopes for rekindled love with “It ain’t ever gonna be the way it used to be"; Saul the bookie finding his hardened heart can heat up like an ingot for Mikey; a waiflike teen girl much like his daughter; the subway saxophonist he schmears overgenerously; the big -shot main event boxer who helped get Mikey his spot on the undercard, and even the brutal puncher he’ll meet in the ring– all partake of the odd bliss of Mikey's stations-of-the-cross charm offensive. The pace and craft equally brought out this filmgoer’s wonderment as Huston makes it all an emotive but somehow believable and fully involving watch.

 Best to discover for oneself the reasons for incorporating the ever-attention-winning Joe Pesci. Let’s just say he owns the screen at key points with his, in this case, studiously minimalist actot's tools. By deed and also by word—call his appearance the magical realist sauce of the entire admirable filmic venture—Pesci tellingly rounds it all off.

We don’t tout too insistently  here in Dogtown, and certainly don’t ‘wish any box office harm to say, the growling agonies of “Nosferatu," nor the raft loads of kiddie fare (which “Day of the Fight” certainly ain’t). currently filling up holiday screens, but just saying—Huston’s picture (currently with an audience score of 97 on Rotten Tomatoes) deserves, and to this viewer, richly rewards, your interest.