Salocin

Million Dollar Baby

When you go to see a film that is directed by and stars Clint Eastwood, you know it's going to be good, or at the very least that it's going to reach for that intangible quality that sets a movie apart. It is very gratifying, having now seen Million Dollar Baby to know that this movie swept most of the Oscars away from The Aviator.

With understated class, no special effects and the unmistakable whiff of moviemaking and storytelling skill, Million Dollar Baby takes you on a personal journey, casting it's own light and it's own shadows on questions of strength, weakness, achievement and sacrifice. While the film would be less effective if one knew the denouement before it was time for it to be revealed, even if you have had the misfortune of being told the end, I strongly recommend you go watch a movie that rekindles some of my belief in the power of storytelling through film.

I've long been a proponent of the market-driven argument. In one context I will defend "Britney Spears" as a "good" artist, and I will do the same for "Armageddon", because if thousands upon thousands of people love it, then by at least one definition, it must be "good" (even though one fervently hopes thousands upon thousands of people will grow up at some point).

I'm never happier, however, than when I come across a film - and Million Dollar Baby fits this category perfectly - which challenges that perception. It doesn't really matter how many people go see this film, and how many people went to see Armageddon. One of them is a piece of art, bringing storytelling talent to the big screen and taking viewers through an experience that might leave them feeling affected by it. The other is bright colours on a screen, and a momentary distraction that gets the adrenaline flowing. They are alike in the same way as a relationship is like a one-night stand: you'll do the latter, but it doesn't satisfy like the former.

Enough metaphors. "Baby" is the story of a boxing trainer who has plenty of emotional luggage, and who is training his latest protege - a young black man with a shot at the title. It is narrated - briefly and at intervals - by an old friend of the trainer's, played by Morgan Freeman. Into this trainer's train-wreck of a life comes a not-so-young aspiring boxer in the form of Hilary Swank. She's not old, but as Eastwood points out at the outset, she's far too old at 31 to consider becoming a boxer. Nevertheless, her perseverance, tenacity and natural talent serve her well in both convincing Frankie (Eastwood) to train her, and in overcoming her numerous challengers in the ring. Very soon she is living her dream.

But when this happens, we are at risk of forgetting that this film is as much about Frankie Dunn as it is about his protege, and events conspire to challenge them in ways we can only pray we never have to face. As their personal strength and willingness to make sacrifices brings their characters into a rare and beautiful contrast, the film avoids asking questions, and merely exposes us to the answers our protagonists have no choice but to find, and the burdens they have no choice but to shoulder as a consequence.

When reviewing films, most of the time, adjectives are used with reckless abandon, to the point where they lose all meaning. When I say this film is poignant, I mean it's poignant. Forget all those films that were allegedly "deeply moving", go see this, and rediscover the meaning of the expression.