This film features a talented cast, telling the real-life story of Irish boxing trainer Brendan Ingle, who guided a cheeky Sheffield teenager from Middle Eastern migrant family. Known as Naseem Hamed, the fighter was coached to confront racist bullies and molded into a media-friendly titleholder in the late 90s. Ingle nurtured his showboating confidence and lethal fists, but after becoming rich, Hamed turned against his coach, cutting him out and turning him into a mix of John Falstaff and Broadway Danny Rose.
Brosnan plays Ingle; Amir El-Masry embodies the role of the prince, and Stephens is the assertive promoter Warren, who recognized the goldmine that Ingle had uncovered.
Yet, the movie frankly misses the Princeās fancy footwork: the boxing sequences run smoothly, but the all-important drama between them is repeatedly dull and monotonous. It lacks subtlety or contrast in the depiction of Hamed himself, and El-Masry, an otherwise excellent talent, doesnāt get the chance to display any subtlety or much of what might make his role really interesting ā even though heās obviously been working out and looks very plausible in the ring.
The story is repeatedly burdened by functional, expositional lines that tell you exactly what is going on and what we are meant to feel (āYou started your boxing journey at seven years old ā¦ā). This is the sort of dialogue that streaming-TV producers call ādouble-screenā, making sure you understand whatās unfolding while youāre watching the film but also checking your phone. Additionally, the score is overbearing, sometimes nearly overwhelming, particularly in the scene where the boxer gets too excited calling on Warren in his luxurious home.
While El-Masry and Brosnan do their considerable best, their relationship doesnāt quite ignites, and the big set-piece fight scenes are often disappointingly cut short. A key moment is surely when, goaded beyond endurance in the gym one day by Hamed as a misguided āold manā, the trainer in fact proposes to get in the ring and fight him. All present in the gym is shocked and uneasy. How exactly is this insanely unwise confrontation going to play out? How precisely the outcome? Surely the champion is going to kill him? Alternatively will he sentimentally pull his punches? Itās not clear.
This isnāt to imply that there are no some nice jabs. The actor elicits humor when his character tells a reporter what heās teaching the kids from his local community: to reject prejudice and when you encounter a offender, āPunch him in the bollocksā. Amusing too when Hamed fidgets at the silly antics the coach makes him do in the beginning: acting like the ābeast from the Middle Eastā.
Regarding the rift, the movie depicts this as being exacerbated by a revealing book that the trainer is allegedly written (a plot point clearly adapted from prior material), and there is an interestingly conceived final conversation ā although the emotional tribute that the boxer is reportedly given to his mentor after his death is merely referenced in the end titles, and not dramatised on film. There is interesting material here, but the punches fail to connect.
Giant was shown at the festival and is available in UK and Irish cinemas from 9 January.
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