The movie boasts a talented cast, depicting the real-life tale of coach Brendan Ingle, who guided a cheeky Yorkshire teenager from Middle Eastern migrant family. Known as Naseem Hamed, the fighter was taught to confront racist bullies and molded into a celebrity world champion in the late 90s. The trainer cultivated his showboating arrogance and powerful punches, but after becoming rich, Hamed turned against his mentor, cutting him out and making him a mix of John Falstaff and Danny Rose.
Pierce Brosnan portrays Ingle; Amir El-Masry takes on the part of the prince, and Toby Stephens appears as the bullish promoter Warren, who recognized the potential that the coach had uncovered.
Yet, the movie frankly lacks the fighterâs fancy footwork: the boxing sequences flow well, but the all-important story between them is repeatedly flat and monotonous. There is no subtlety or light and shade in the portrayal of Hamed himself, and El-Masry, an otherwise excellent talent, isnât given the opportunity to show any depth or much of what might make his role truly engaging â even though heâs clearly been working out and looks very plausible in the ring.
The story is repeatedly burdened by utilitarian, expositional lines that tell you exactly what is happening and what we are meant to feel (âYour journey began your career at seven years old âŠâ). This is the kind of script that streaming-TV producers call âsecond-screenâ, ensuring you know whatâs unfolding while youâre watching the film but also glancing at your device. Additionally, the background music is overbearing, at times almost overwhelming, especially in the scene where the boxer gets overexcited visiting the promoter in his palatial residence.
While the leads do their very utmost, their dynamic never really ignites, and the big set-piece boxing moments are frequently disappointingly cut short. The most important scene is certainly when, provoked beyond endurance in the gym one day by the boxer as a misguided âold manâ, the trainer actually proposes to get in the ring and box him. Everyone in the room is stunned and uneasy. In what way is this extremely risky confrontation going to unfold? What will be the outcome? Surely the Prince is going to defeat him? Alternatively will he sentimentally hold back? The resolution remains ambiguous.
This isnât to imply that there are no some nice jabs. Brosnan elicits humor when his character tells a journalist what heâs teaching the youths from his local community: to reject prejudice and when you meet a offender, âHit them in the groinâ. Itâs funny too when Hamed squirms at the ridiculous antics Ingle makes him do in the beginning: posing as the âmonster from the Eastâ.
Regarding the rift, the film shows this as being worsened by a tell-all publication that Ingle is allegedly written (a story element evidently modified from another source), and there is an intriguingly imagined last discussion â although the emotional tribute that the boxer is reportedly given to Ingle after his death is only mentioned in the end titles, and not dramatised on screen. Some engaging content here, but the blows donât land.
Giant was shown at the London film festival and is in UK and Irish theaters from January 9.