Review - Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #2

Grade: A

Let me start this review by thanking Brian Michael Bendis for showing the comic-reading public that some African-American fathers do stick around to raise their children.

Conversely, I’m saddened that, by the same token, he also perpetuated the stereotype that most Black man are or have been incarcerated. But, since Bendis focuses more on showing a powerful father-son relationship, I’ll let him slide on the jailed Black man stereotype, no matter how unfortunate and uncomfortable its truth may be.

Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #2 continues the excellence of the first issue, this time focusing more intently on Miles. The last issue of UCSM ended with Miles being bitten by a genetically-engineered spider and then discovering he has the ability to become invisible. Issue #2 picks up right from that moment and follow Miles as he discovers some of his new abilities. While wandering towards home, Miles finds he has the ability to not only disappear but to jump and, when he runs afoul of some bullies, emit a shocking sting like a spider. Scared to death of being a mutant in a world where the remaining free mutants are quickly on their way to a days of future past scenario, Miles rushes to share his fears with his friend Ganke, a chubby, intelligent Asian with a passion for Legos (one stereotype out of two isn’t bad; kudos, again, Mr. Bendis). Not long after showing off some of his new-found powers, Miles’ father, last seen arguing with Miles’ uncle Aaron, arrives to reclaim his son.

The second half of the issue is dedicated to an awkward but moving conversation between Miles and his father, where his father reveals that he was once imprisoned—after running and robbing with Aaron—and how he hopes Miles will never have to face such a fate. This moment, which took at least three pages, is a pitch-perfect example of why decompression is a viable approach to comic storytelling. Allowing the conversation between Miles and his father to continue unburdened by a rushed gives the characters a chance to breath and enabled Bendis to employ some very human pauses and reactions. That scene single handedly shows that the best written and illustrated comics can easily match television or film in their ability to capture emotional truth.

But Bendis and his alone do not carry this issue, artist Sara Pichelli continues to deliver some of the best art of the year on this title. Pichelli is already well known for ability to add essential details to her illustration without overstuffing her panels (***coughJimLeecough***). Rather than rehash that praise, I’ll point to a couple of exemplary panels. Page 1, Panel 1 is an establishing shot of the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn focused on the varied faces of modern New Yorkers. The variety of faces in that panel is exemplary. There are no lookalikes or switched templates. Each face is unique and utterly human. The splash on page 14 is superb, delicately revealing the emotion on both Miles and his father’s face while showing that life goes on around them. Bendis is very lucky to have Pichelli on board with him because, despite the current praised heaped on writers, comics live and die based on the quality of their illustrations. As long as Pichelli continues to bring her gorgeous pencils to UCSM the comic should enjoy a long, prosperous existence.

While I’m hoping UCSM will enjoy a long run, this is just the beginning for Miles. By the end of this issue Ganke has reasoned that Miles is not a dreaded mutant but the survivor of a freak accident like the now-legendary Spider-Man, a conversation told completely through text. On that note, I’d like to heap some more praise on the writer, as many are wont to do these days. Bendis’ decision to eschew narration boxes in favor of a dialogue driven issue is not just inspired it’s a welcome. Today’s audiences, or at least those who Marvel and DC hope to court with initiatives like Ultimate Comics and the New 52, are used to entertainment, like television and film, that typically avoids narration. In using the non-narration approach, Bendis is delivering information in a more contemporary manner and delivering a product from the Big Two that is starting to look like it wants to shake off the shackles of tradition. To Bendis, again, I say kudos. Wisely, Bendis ends this issue where any story about Spider-Man should rightfully begin with Miles crawling the wall of his bedroom. Miles may be frightened of what comes next, but I, for one, am eager to see this kid ascend to the heights only spiders can reach.

Review - Machine Gun Preacher

Grade: C

Good: Brings much needed attention to a serious issue and offers heartwarming moments, in the most conventional of terms. Performance by Savane and Magale rise above the weaker efforts of more recognizable stars.

Bad: Another spin on the white-man-saves-the-savages narrative, that seems to willfully lack awareness of its inherent, potentially offensive redundancy. Butler fails to capture the fire behind the real-life Childers in favor of playing a super-cool tough guy who is in the wrong movie.

Ugly: The abject suffering the people of the Southern Sudan and Northern Uganda region face is deplorable.

One of dour comic Louis C.K.’s most popular bits is a rant on “white people problems”. White people problems, or first world problems as they are occasionally known, are those mundane problems that seems to cripple the well-fed, educated and housed people, generally Caucasian, of developed countries like the United States , the United Kingdom, and France. These problems can be anything from Starbucks running out of milk temporarily to upper middle class professionals being forced to devote a fraction of their $100,000 salary to pay for an electric bill that jumped from $150 to $250. All problems that cannot remotely compare to the suffering of people in developing countries like Uganda and Sudan, where children are routinely abducted while their families and villages are brutally destroyed by warlords and their subversive armies.

The majority of the population in developed countries knows little of the strife and suffering the people of these countries face on a daily basis. An even smaller number is aware and able to help, until they forget. Reformed biker and preacher Sam Childers has never forgotten the people, particularly the children, of Northern Uganda and Southern Sudan, and has devoted his life to defending their right to live in freedom and safety.

Marc Forster and screenwriter Jason Keller’s Machine Gun Preacher is solemn, if occasionally disconnected, testament to a man who will not quit and the seemingly-impossible mission has saved his life as much as it has threatened to destroy it. Gerard Butler stars as Sam Childers, founder of Angels of East Africa, a former biker, junkie, small-time hood who lived life beyond the wild side until a violent encounter with a hitchhiker forces him to rethink his way of life. Baptized and committed to Christ, Childers opens a construction company and begins to make a better life for his wife Lynn (Michelle Monaghan) and his daughter, Paige (Madeline Carroll). During a routine trip to Sunday service, Childers is moved by a missionary who spent many years working with the people, particularly the children, of war-ravaged the Southern Sudan-Northern Uganda region. Not long after, Childers visits the region as part of a Habitat-for-Humanity-style program and witnesses the shamefully high amount of suffering. Childers, inspired by a higher power, returns to build a church/orphanage in the region. When his church project is decimated by warlords, Childers takes a radical approach to saving the people on the border of the Sudan and Uganda, one that involves a many guns as it does gauze and one that may push Childers further from the family that saved him.

Gerard Butler does admirable work as Childers. Of course, the former-Leonidas excels when he’s called to be an action hero with a cause. A Rambo of Northern Africa, if you will. But, when forced to delve into the emotion and fire that lives within Childers, he’s a bit muted. Sure, the quiet, reflective man of action archetype fits well within this type narrative, but there seems to be a spark missing from Butler’s performance that would have made Butler’s interpretation of Childers as memorable as his mission. I know there’s a spark missing from Butler’s performance because Childers was present at the screening and to see the literal fire that emanates from this man is to see why Butler’s performance skews wide left of perfect. Childers is ferocious in his passion for his cause—this is a man who, in personal footage shown during the credits, is cocking a shotgun one-handed and firing in a smooth succession(top that, Ms. Connor)—and it bleeds through him. Butler, on the other hand, gives his interpretation of Childers as cool countenance that belies this intensity and his performance suffers for it. Despite the incongruity between real and movie Childers, Butler still owns the movie above and beyond all the supporting cast. Michelle Monaghan is adequate as Childers long-suffering wife, who deals patiently with her husband’s issues no matter what side of the law he’s on. Michael Shannon is sadly underutilized as Childer’s best friend, a recovering junkie who goes through the typical recovery arc, which gives less screen time to deliver the unsettling quality that Shannon typically brings to the big and small screen. Souleymane Sy Savane fares a little better than the rest of the supporting cast bringing a quiet dignity to his role as Childers right-hand man in Africa—jeez, that sounds bad—Deng. Young Junior Magale also deserves praise for his role as pre-teen who has lost all of his family and is desperately trying to find his lost brother, a plotline which probably would have made for a far more compelling narrative.

Forster does an able job of interpreting a script by impassioned screenwriter Jason Keller, who was also present at the screening—an oddity considering how quickly screenwriters are excused from the creative process. Unfortunately, Forster’s vision is serviceable and workmanlike rather than revelatory. Preacher is visually no different or unique than any meditative action film that Clint Eastwood may have made. There’s no visual signature or particular insight that elevates this above the material. Even worse, Forster, who doesn’t shy away from showing the horrors of the war in the region and its devastating impact on non-combatants, fails to present the region as something other than a catalyst for Childer’s redemption, and that’s the inherent problem with this story. No matter how you spin it, this is another “white man-saves-the-savages” narrative. Despite the honesty that I’m sure Keller and Forster infused Preacher with, it’s very hard to conquer that mental hurdle of “here we go again.” I wish Forster and Keller would have been able to introduce some awareness to film, considering that most cultures are cognizant if through visual or written literature that this is a common trope. That effort would have at least proven that the good people of the Sudan-Uganda region weren’t completely hopeless without a man like Childers. And, truthfully, at the rate Childers loses as many lives as he saves, one has to wonder how much good he is actually doing.

As it is, Preacher is an admirable effort, but it could have been so much more. From performances to direction, it seems like it’s going through the motions and hitting the exact same notes as similar stories have in years past. Preacher is a film that will surely make some members audience cringe, albeit for many different reasons, but it does make an effort, if not a particularly effective one, to bring attention to a cause that may go ignored in light of more popular issues. As Keller said during the Q&A that followed the film, this movie isn’t for those who know about the suffering in the Sudan and Uganda; it’s for those who don’t. While this may not be the optimal vehicle to enlighten those masses, you can’t fault Forster and co. for trying.

Review - Supernatural 7x01: Meet the New Boss

Grade: A

Dean’s right. The Winchesters never catch a break, do they?

Supernatural returned last night and started right where it left off with Castiel having become ‘God’ after absorbing all the souls in purgatory.

One of the most priceless moments of the premiere was Bobby’s reaction to GodCas. Upon realizing that he and the Winchesters are completely outmatched, he kneels. Dean and Sam promptly follow suit. It qualifies as maybe one the smarter things the guys have done and one that is slyly funny because, heck, that’s what most people would do.

After subduing Sam by poking at the walls Death erected to protect Sam’s mind from his memories of Hell, GodCas goes a mission from God to make things right in the world, a totally Cas thing to do. His first stop is at church where a fiery anti-gay preacher is whipping his flock into a frenzy against those ‘degenerates’. Cas arrives, announces he’s God and proceeds to smite the preacher in the way that only the God of the Old Testament would savor. Later, he forces the KKK to disband and restores sight to a blind man. You’ve got to love Cas for at least making an effort to do some good with the Power Cosmic.

Meanwhile, the Winchesters are, in a change of pace, resigned to their fate. Dean, clearly stumped at how to beat God despite their track record with taking on deities, is convinced they’re out of options, while Sam is haunted by visions of his time in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Sam’s visions are quite reminiscent of those that plagued Dean after his stint in the eternal boiler room—all hooks, chains, and flame. At this point, it’s abundantly clear that Sera Gamble and the good people in the Supernatural writer’s room will never, ever let Sam go even half a season without excruciating torment. That said, it’s hard to blame Dean for feeling like giving up is the best option. No matter where the Winchesters go or what good they do, some higher power, real and/or fictional, has it out for them. But, there’d be no show if the Winchesters didn’t suffer, so here we are. As much as I love Supernatural and kind of wish it would never disappear, I’d like to see the guys catch a break and sometimes it seems like cancellation would be the only way they would get a reprieve.

As the Winchesters lick their wounds, Cas visits the we-always-think-he’s-dead-but he-never-is Crowley. He strikes a deal to restore Crowley as King of Hell with the condition that Cas gets to choose which souls go where. Sounds familiar. I love how the writers at Supernatural actually maneuvered Cas into striking the exact biblical deal the real ‘God’ enforced with Lucifer. Clever those writers are.

Cas obviously has a plan, but he has never been known to be particularly strategic or subtle. When word of Cas’ exploits spreads, the Winchesters finally stop their moping and devise a plan of their own, with some urging by Crowley, to ‘enlist’ the aid of the one force that can stop God, Death. Now, the Winchesters typically come up with some dumb plans—in the sense that their plans are often fly by the seat of their pants bold—but their plan to bind Death, with some old-fashioned spellcasting, and use him to kill Cas might not have been their wisest. Once Cas finds the boys and the recently bound Death, he is visibly disappointed that he’s going to have to kill his old ‘pets’. Cas promptly un-binds Death, but Death notices that Cas is physically falling apart. Apparently, Cas can’t control all the things in heaven, earth and purgatory that man never dreamt of. The worse of those beasties being the ominously named, vaguely–defined Leviathans, who apparently predate humanity. Dinosaurs on Supernatural? They’ve had dragons, so why not? Despite this demoralizing new knowledge, Cas promptly un-binds Death and disappears to enact more divine justice.

While I’m 50-50 on if the Leviathans are actually a reference to dinosaurs, it’s obvious from Death’s response that they’re not to be taken lightly. Cas’ struggle to control the souls inside culminates with him massacring an entire office of political staffers for a congressional candidate he deemed as evil. Cas has always been a moral absolutist—in fact, his struggle to see the gray in the world has been a source of some the series’ best examples of character development—but mass murder is beyond the pail. Thankfully, Death dropped a bit of knowledge that could help the Winchesters and Cas before he goes even further. All Cas has to do is release the souls back to Purgatory. No problem.

The Winchesters draw Cas back to the abandoned hospital where he absorbed the souls of Purgatory and open a portal—more spellcasting here than on The Secret Circle—for Cas to toss the souls into. Everything seems on track until Sam goes missing. The walls in his mind have completely collapsed and Lucifer appears to tell Sam that he’s still locked in the cage. Dun-dun-dun. On the other side of the hospital, Cas successfully releases the souls, dies and returns as everbody’s favorite simple-minded Cas. But, Cas didn’t get rid of all the souls. One of the Leviathans held on and now Cas is possessed, and he’s already starting to ham it up with classic madman villainy. Knowing Supernatural’s propensity to drag out the conflict between the boys and the big bad—and the fact that Misha Collins isn’t a regular this season—it’s likely the brothers won’t be going head-to-head with LeviathanCas anytime soon, which is sad because it would be nice to see a different side to Cas, even if he is at the Winchester’s throats.

And with that, the season is off to an impressive start, especially compared to the more deliberate opening of last season. Gamble and Co. really set the bar with this opening and managed to do a lot in 43 minutes. Not only have they established a viable opponent with a personal connection to the Winchesters, they accelerated the issue of Sam’s growing madness and set Crowley up as a potential thorn in everyone’s side. Sure, some of these beats are just continuations of arcs that could have, and probably should have, been wrapped last season, but the momentum these arcs have right now is pretty fascinating. Hopefully, Supernatural will avoid some of the feet-dragging and tonal swings that defined last season and embrace the madness. And, if they keep up the momentum from this episode, not only will our boys never get a break, but we might be staring down the barrel of season 8. But, that’s just wishful thinking...

Review - Ultimate Comics Spider-Man vol. 2 #1

Grade: A

Good: Amazing art, non-stereotypical characters, authentic dialogue and a plot that incorporates real-world phenomenon like lotteries for public charter schools are the highlights of the first chapter of the new Spidey’s story.

Bad: Bendis’ preference for decompression means no ‘Spider-Man’ action, at all.

Ugly: Me, after having to wait for the next issue. Thankfully, it’s less than two weeks away.

SPOILERS AHEAD

In the middle of DC Comics month-long stunt relaunch of its entire line, Marvel staged its own stunt: relaunching Ultimate Spider-Man sans Peter Parker (RIP) and leading with multi-racial teen Miles Morales as the face behind ol’ webhead.

The controversial response to Miles taking the Spider-Mantle has been “illuminating” to say the least. For as many fans who support and are genuinely enthused or proud of Marvel’s, and writer Brian Michael Bendis, in particular, decision there is a seemingly equal number who feel this change is an affront to the Comic Gods. In between are fans who are cautiously skeptical, aware that part of this is likely a stunt, but still relieved to see a measure of progress applied to one of the medium’s icons--albeit an alternate universe version, but. Count me as one of the fans in the middle. Yeah, I know it’s a timely stunt in light of increasing criticism of the whitewashed world of superhero comics, but I’ll be damned if I’m not the least bit proud to see someone who looks like me become one of my, and the world’s, favorite superheroes. Even more rewarding is seeing the story of Miles Morales begin with a level of quality and authenticity rarely given to superheroes of color.

Ultimate Comics Spider-Man opens its second volume with a fraction of a full story, but it is a fraction that is so replete with subtle charm and an attempt capturing the zeitgeist of the African-Latin-American experience in New York that it quickly and effectively rises above being a stunt. For the uninitiated, the Ultimate, now Ultimate Comics, imprint of Marvel comics is centered on an alternative Marvel Universe where Captain America swears, Samuel L. Jackson is Nick Fury and anyone can die, permanently. The Ultimate Universe was established by Marvel in the early 2000s as an initiative to entice readers with comics unhindered by Sisyphean continuity (sound familiar?). The imprint was fairly popular, boasting some of the top creators in industry for a number of years, until about 2005 when Marvel decided to reshape their main line, known as the 616 Universe, to align with the increasing popularity of movie releases like Spider-Man, X-Men, and, their first studio venture, Iron Man. With the 616 Universe returned to prominence, the Ultimate Universe fell by the waste side, culminating in a series of events where Ultimate versions of the X-Men and Avengers saw their ranks dwindle after a series of violent deaths by the hands of Magneto and his Brotherhood of Mutants. Earlier this year, the Ultimate version of Peter Parker met his own demise at the hands of a collection of his worst enemies—including the Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus and Kraven—popularly known as the Sinister Six. The tragically noble death of Peter Parker, who died protecting his beloved Aunt May and girlfriend Gwen Stacy, opened the door for Miles Morales to become the next Ultimate Spider-Man.

Miles’ story begins with the ultimate version of the Prowler, an African-American character who emerged in 1969 as a criminal-turned-hero dressed in a goofy purple and green ensemble. When the Prowler breaks into the ruins of Oscorp—the evil corporation run by Spidey’s archenemy Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin—to loot the one of its vaults, he leaves with a stowaway: a genetically engineered spider with remnants of Peter Parker’s DNA. From there, the story shifts to introducing Miles, an average thirteen-year old from Brooklyn, and his family as they make way to participate in one of those increasingly common and nerve-racking lotteries for students who wish to attend charter schools. At this point, it’s clear that not only has Bendis done his homework, or at least taken a passing glance at Madeline Sackler’s wonderful documentary The Lottery, but that he is aiming to incorporate some real-world authenticity into the realm of the fantastic. That's not to say that most comic writers don’t aim for such heights, but the world of superhero comics can at time seem so divorced from reality, and with good reason, that readers, and creators, forget to ensure their work is grounded in a world that at least reflects the real world.

Miles is lucky enough to win a spot at the Brooklyn Visions academy, which leads to his parents—something I also love about this comic: a minority child with TWO parents because that does actually happen—a moment that should ring true to any readers, of any race, who are parents and want more for their children. It is a touching, honest moment that is rare in the world of superhero comics, and I am absolutely pleased that Bendis had the sensitivity to include it. After the Lottery, Miles rushes to share the good news with his favorite uncle Aaron, a seeming ne’er-do-well who has a contentious relationship with Miles’ father. Aaron’s congratulatory words to Miles are colored by a tangible pride that echoes Miles’ parents’ response. Now, this may seems like a bit redundant in light of the earlier scene at the Lottery, but it is necessary to show how important the concept of hope is to people who have abandoned their own sense of hope. At this point Miles’ story intersects with Peter’s and starts to mimic the first Spider-Man’s origin. Miles’ uncle has the bag from the Prowler’s robbery sitting on his couch. When Miles plops down for a seat, he is bitten by the spider from Osborn’s lab. Miles collapses suddenly, waking just in time to see his father arrive and engage in a particularly heated argument with Miles’ uncle. Then, Miles disappears. Literally. He becomes invisible and the audience is left hanging on the edge of a cliff, not a very steep cliff, but a cliff nonetheless.

Now, decompression can be as much a bane to comics as overpricing and poor advertising, and the cliffhanger here, while peaking curiosity, isn’t all that welcome because the audience never sees Miles do anything remotely Spider-Man-like. For new readers, that will be beyond disappointing. But, for those familiar with Bendis’ style, this ending is par for the course. Luckily, there’s only a two-week wait until the next issue, and the issue was available for digital download, so that should help maintain interest. Hopefully.

As much as Bendis is on his game with this first issue, bringing his trademark ear for dialogue as well as sluggish pacing, Artist Sara Pichelli is the real draw (pun only partially intended). Pichelli’s rendition of Miles, his family and their fellow Brooklynites is positively sublime. Pichelli--best known for her work on the last volume of Ultimate Spider-Man, Runaways, and the similarly-themed NYX—illustrates with a keen eye for detail. Pichelli’s details are not superfluous exaggerations, as seen in Jim Lee’s art for the DCnU’s Justice League #1; rather, they are the details that make individuals unique. Her characters look like real people because they demonstrate idiosyncrasies in fashion, posture, and demeanor. Take a look at Page 13, Panel 4, when Miles get bitten by the Oscorp spider goes to his Uncle’s: he is rocking black and white Adidas shelltoes with untied wide red laces. That is an amazing, and contemporary, detail, and it is one of a dozen. Pichelli’s characters look alive and the world around them has true ‘lived-in’ quality. This is not a pristine, blue-sky version of New York; it is New York at its most grounded: endlessly cluttered and a just a wee bit dirty, even in the best parts of town. Perhaps the best example of the reality of Pichelli’s New York is Aaron’s ‘apartment’. For those who know, his apartment is housed within a ‘traditional’ apartment building; it’s in a housing project, which is obvious through design and color—a tip of the hat to colorist Justin Ponsor for making Pichelli’s work really pop—of the hall and the apartment’s interior, all without one hint of dialogue.

Between the art and the writing, Ultimate Comics Spider-Man vol. 2 is off to a superb, if slow-paced start. As a longtime fan, I know the drill: wait two to four weeks and there will be more story, but this is one of the few times I cannot wait for the next issue. Despite my enthusiasm, I am concerned about new readers because while I think this is a great starting point and generally solid, I know they may be discouraged about the value of picking up a fraction of a story, much less in a plastic bag that harkens back to the collector-inspired crash of the nineties and prevents them from flipping through before purchasing. Between Marvel’s collector-inspired polybagging and Bendis’ proclivity for sluggish pacing, trade-waiting may seem like the wisest option for both new and veteran readers. But, I promise this issue is well worth the money. Sure, it’s seems like a great start to a collection of negligible value, but it’s definitely a wonderful start to what seems like a great story.

Review - Warrior

Grade: A

Good: Amazing performances from Hardy, Edgerton and Nolte; Superbly filmed and choreographed MMA fights; Great dramatic restraint that prevents taxing melodrama.

Bad: Plot is a nakedly contrived.

Ugly: All of the submission moves used by Edgerton’s character.

Earlier this year, David O. Russell’s The Fighter won a few people some awards, and rightly so. Stars Melissa Leo and Christian Bale deserved to be recognized for their superb performances as the most co-dependent mother-son duo south of the Merrimack. As good as the performances in the Fighter were, it didn’t exactly re-invent the wheel that is the sports movie, but it did show how the traditional framework could amplify a narrative built around family drama. Now, a few months shy of a year later, Gavin O’Connor tries his hand at the family drama-sports movie hybrid with Warrior, a deceptively moving film that transcends a contrived plot and delivers a legitimate emotional gut punch.

The plot for Warrior sounds like it was copied straight out of a Street Fighter instruction manual. Former marine Tommy Reardon (Tom Hardy) has returned to the Pittsburgh home of his father, recovering alcoholic and ex-boxer Paddy Conlon (Nick Nolte), after years of estrangement. Tommy wants nothing to do with his father, who apparently spent most of Tommy’s formative years beating his wife and terrorizing his family, but he needs Paddy to train him for an upcoming Mixed Martial Arts tournament, cleverly named SPARTA, with a $5 million purse that he desperately needs to help the family of one of his lost squad mates. On the other side of Pennsylvania, the brother Tommy hasn't spoken to in years, former UFC competitor Brendan Conlon (Joel Edgerton), is family man who spends his days teaching high school physics and his nights competing in bush league MMA fights. His luck hits the skids when he is suspended from teaching for coming into work looking like Edward Norton after a night at Fight Club, and, adding to the misery, his bank threatens to foreclose on his family's home. With his world falling apart, Brendan decides to give it another go as a fighter. After getting the begrudging support of his wife (Jennifer Morrison), hooking up with ace trainer Frank Campana (Frank Grillo) and benefitting from a cruel, contrived twist of fate, Brendan finds himself in position to enter the SPARTA tourney. The two brothers arrive at SPARTA and set forth on a collision course that includes a litany of brutal beatdowns and moments of measured catharsis that threaten to tear the family apart as much as it may bring them together.

As the leads, it is implied that Warrior is a showcase for Hardy and Edgerton, but both truly own this film with superb performances that show a restraint and humanity that few films like this ever possess. Hardy does an outstanding job as Tommy, a literal caged animal haunted by the pain of his past. Hardy avoids making Tommy a moper and a whiner, and opts to present Tommy as reticent when outside the ring and frighteningly ferocious inside of it. If this is what audiences can expect from him as Bane in next year’s The Dark Knight Rises then Christian Bale better bring Mickey Ward’s kidney punch. Joel Edgerton may not play the flashier of the two brothers, but his performance as Brendan is noble and relatable in the way that classic underdog sports heroes should be. Brendan’s attempts to deal with very real issues motivating his pursuit is laudable for its avoidance of melodramatics and embrace of dignified control. Probably the most impressive part of both performances is how well both actors translate their characters personalities into physicality. As Tommy, Hardy is constantly moving and shifting in the cage, as if he cannot wait to knock his opponent on their back. Conversely, Edgerton gives Brendan a patience that manifests in superb timing and an aptitude for eschewing the knockout and making his opponents tap out in the most painful way possible. When these two bring their physicality and emotion to their respective final bouts, they do so in a way that tells a story better than any words on page ever could.

Hardy and Edgerton’s performance are only elevated by the strong work Nick Nolte does as their father, Paddy. Nolte carries the weight of past sins deep inside much like his sons do, but his quest for redemption balances exaggerated desperation with honest compassion. Nolte never lets Paddy devolve to the point where his love for his sons is questioned. As haunted and demolished as the man is, he carries on because the love of his sons is pretty much all he has, and Nolte plays that beat perfectly. The rest of the supporting cast is fairly marginalized with Morrison having a bit more impact than the rest, playing the beleaguered, reluctantly supportive wife that is required for any boxing/fighting drama. Pro wrestling fans will be interested to see that Olympic Gold medalist, TNA wrestler and all around all-American Kurt Angle has a fairly significant role as, ironically, Russian powerhouse Koba. Thankfully, he doesn’t speak; he just annihilates opponents, which is probably the wisest use of a wrestler who is untrained in more traditional acting.

Director Gavin O’Connor, best known for the underrated Miracle, does a superb job in keeping the affairs outside of the ring fairly low-key. By avoiding melodramatics and grounding the character’s motivations in relatable, contemporary issues, he allows Warrior to reach beyond the expectations of the average sports film. Admittedly, the plot is a bit contrived in the sense that the two brothers both enter the same tournament at the same time, but without it there’d be no movie. Ignoring the plot contrivances, audiences will find that O’Connor, who manages a cameo as SPARTA organizer J.J. Riley, has a strong hand for not only storytelling sans dialogue, as evident in the fights and the scenes of utter quiet, but also for atmosphere. As artificial as the plot may seem, the atmosphere is absolutely tangible, as the darkness and claustrophobia of the character’s lives at home provides a powerful contrast to the spectacle of MMA competition. O’Connor is also no slouch with filming the superbly choreographed MMA fights. The fights are appropriately brutal without being overly bloody and deliver an impact that should ring true to most fans of the sport. The balance of restrained drama, tangible atmosphere and solidly filmed and choreographed fights that O’Connor brings to the table is crucial to giving the film an authenticity and an insight that many may not find when watching a real MMA competition.

All things considered, Warrior is a remarkable achievement. It brings a new twist to the genre of boxing/fighting sports film and shines a light on the contemporary successor to the sweet science. Based on the cheap-ish commercials, Warrior seems like something better suited to a late-night run on FX or Spike TV, but make no mistake this is as good as a movie like this can be. Like its two leads, Warrior is much more than it appears and deserves to mentioned in the same breath as champions of fight films like Rocky, Raging Bull, and The Fighter.