This review first appeared in The Colorado Springs Gazette. To read this review at its original source, click here.

Part Midnight Cowboy , part Rocky , the preposterous and bizarre Fighting reminded me of when I used to be a judge for a local student film festival. Occasionally we’d get an entry that was so bad that you yearned for it to be over, but simultaneously never wanted it to end because the filmmaker was usually just a feet away, looking on expectantly, hoping for praiseworthy encouragement that was never going to come.

Shawn MacArthur (Channing Tatum) is a small town boy living in the big city. Just a few years out of college, Shawn has fled personal disgrace back home hoping to find his conscience assuaged on the mean streets of New York City. Barely scraping by as a half-hearted hustler selling counterfeit goods on the street, Shawn’s luck changes when Harvey Boarden (Terrence Howard), a scam artist prowling around for something to exploit, sees in Shawn a natural talent for street fighting. The white bread, wholesome Shawn is resistant at first, but he is also homeless and hungry and Harvey is offering a lot of money.

Entering into an uneasy partnership, Harvey introduces Shawn to the seedy underworld of bare-knuckle fighting, where men’s bodies are the pawns of wealthy flesh merchants and crowds roar in the sort of bloodlust that would have sounded familiar to the decadent gladiatorial purveyors of ancient Rome. Obviously the economy is still going strong in the world of street fighting. Shawn immediately makes a name for himself taking down almost everyone thrown at him, finding a certain celebrity and a whole lot of ready cash amongst the underground brawlers. But if Shawn ever hopes of making a normal life for himself and snagging the beautiful Zulay (Zulay Valez), he must not only win, he must survive the biggest fight of his life against an opponent from his past in possession of his deepest, darkest secret.

Fighting , the sophomore effort from writer/director Dito Monteil (the engaging A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints ) is a plodding and dull film. When it’s not throwing punches, it’s moving at a glacial pace. For a film about fighting there sure is a lot of talking. Most of the time, that’s far from a problem, especially when Monteil made a name for himself as a vibrant writer with his freshman outing. But here, his exposition runs afoul of tedium. It feels as if Monteil told his cast to improvise the entire script from a smattering of loosely formed ideas and assured them he’d keep the stuff that worked and cut out the stuff that didn’t. The only problem is Fighting plays out like Monteil and his editor completely forgot the latter part of his promise.

No one expected acting brilliance from Tatum, who does a perfectly adequate job but so far has chosen no roles to truly test his range. But there are moments here in which Howard, normally a superb actor, should feel profound embarrassment. Like some sort of ruined pyramid with Howard at the top, his badly mangled performance trickles down even to the bit players, translating into performances that literally instigate laughter.

The fighting is impressive enough. There’s nothing pretty or elegant about it; it’s all flailing limbs and fists, as I expect is closer to the truth than most films of this nature portray. And when the fighters’ heads crash with sickening thuds onto the marble floors, you’ll swear you’re feeling the onset of your own migraine.

© Copyright 2009 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.