As Christy Turner, the female boxer that made headlines in 1990s and early 2000s, Sydney Sweeney sports an outdated mullet, one that is permanently 1983-ish. She's also rounder than usual, her character struggling with her sexuality in the conservative boonies of West Virginia, and is fiercer than a wild cat in a boxing ring.
Much like Rocky Balboa fifty years prior, Christy is a small time underdog against her bigger name opponents - at least early on. She soon develops into a respected, overachieving woman boxer, hampered from fully reaching her potential only by the counter-progressive stubborness of her trainer turned husband (Ben Foster). He's the ultimate cliche: the kind of man who beats up on his spouse because she justly enquires about him secretly splurging her earnings.
Christy presents us with a real-life heroine, one whose small-town-Americana birthplace likely got in the way of a bigger success. Sweeney does as well as she can, given the blandness of the script. It all plays out like a gritty made for TV fare, truth being told. In an ocean of late year movie releases, this is bound to get buried and quickly forgotten - much like Dwayne Johnson's redundant "The Smashing Machine."
☆☆
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