Sydney Sweeney in 'Christy.' Courtesy of TIFF Share on Facebook Share on X Share to Flipboard Send an Email Show additional share options Share on LinkedIn Share on Pinterest Share on Reddit Share on Tumblr Share on Whats App Print the Article Post a Comment Starting with his breakthrough feature, the simmering Australian crime family saga Animal Kingdom, David Michôd has leaned frequently into dark material. There's grit but also lugubriousness in Christy, an inspirational sports movie that morphs in somewhat ungainly style into an unflinching depiction of domestic violence. It's only when that ugliness creeps in that the director seems fully engaged. Until then, it's a pedestrian and numbingly repetitive drama in which the stakes just never seem all that high. We watch Sydney Sweeney as real-life '90s boxing star Christy Martin land one power punch after another, felling a stream of opponents without ever acquiring much dimension as a character. Related Stories Movies 'The Man in My Basement' Review: Corey Hawkins and Willem Dafoe Star in a Walter Mosley Adaptation That Compels but Doesn't Convince Movies 'Fuze' Review: Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Theo James Headline David Mackenzie's Savvy, Hunk-Filled Heist Thriller Opening in early November, the film will be the inaugural release for the newly formed U.S. distribution arm of indie production outfit Black Bear. They better hope not too many of their potential audience have caught up with Rachel Morrison's The Fire Inside, a far more trenchant and emotional study of a young female boxer who overcame adversity to become an Olympic competitor. Christy The Bottom Line Watchable enough, but no knockout. Venue: Toronto International Film Festival (Special Presentations)Release date: Friday, Nov. 7Cast: Sydney Sweeney, Ben Foster, Merritt Wever, Katy O'Brian, Ethan Embry, Jess Gabor, Chad Coleman, Bryan Hibbard, Tony Cavalero, Gilbert Cruz, Bill KellyDirector: David MichôdScreenwriters: Mirrah Foulkes, David Michôd 2 hours 15 minutes Michôd is a very capable craftsman, so there's nothing inherently lacking in the movie except surprise - at least until Ben Foster, playing Jim Martin, the trainer that Christy married, goes full psycho. Christy is a West Virginia college basketball player who enters a local boxing contest seemingly on a whim and demonstrates such a punishing straight-right punch that she's soon snapped up by Tennessee promoter Larry (Bill Kelly) and winning fight after fight. For a movie in which people are constantly getting slammed in the head or guts, there's little tangible conflict for much of its protracted running time. Christy just seems to breeze through, from novice to welterweight champion, presented to feverish boxing fans as "The Coal Miner's Daughter," with no apologies to Loretta Lynn or Sissy Spacek. Any concern that Christy's parents, John (Ethan Embry) and Joyce (Merritt Wever), might have about their daughter pursuing a career in a violent sport are outweighed by their fear of scandal. A phone call from the mother of Rosie (Jess Gabor), her girlfriend since high school, puts Christy's folks on high alert. "What you're doing isn't normal and we want you to have a normal, happy life," says Joyce, the soft sweetness in her voice making the sting of her words more potent in Wever's typically excellent performance. When Larry sends her to train with Jim Martin, he advises Christy to take her mother along to meet him. "Jim's a family man," says Larry, nodding pointedly at Rosie to indicate that having a girlfriend might not go over well. That should fire up the drama with the tension of Christy having to hide her sexuality. But neither the script by Michôd and Mirrah Foulkes nor Sweeney's performance gives the queer angle much depth. Christy's first meeting with Jim reveals him to be a discourteous jerk, who rolls his eyes at the idea of "lady boxers" and looks to offload her quickly by having a male sparring partner make short work of her. But after taking one hit she then knocks him to the mat, forcing Jim to concede that she may be a natural. Sweeney trained extensively and thickened up for the role, initially wearing a dark quasi-mullet, which only becomes less distracting when Foster shows up with a sparse thatch that's even worse. (Seriously, why is it that movie budgets so often don't stretch to decent wigs?) But Jim has thoughts on her hair, instructing her to grow it ("Nobody wants to see a butch girl fight"), and putting her in a pastel pink satin robe and shorts for her first pro fight. But those braided cornrows when she switches to blonde? Girl, no. If Christy, who appears to have grown up as what used to be called a "tomboy," feels any discomfort about this forced makeover, Sweeney doesn't show it. Instead, the character is a frustrating mix of passivity and mouthiness, coming off cocky in the ring and at press conferences, where she occasionally drops lesbian epithets about her opponents. Later in the film, Christy's trai