Cinderella Man not quite fairy tale

The summertime is a moment where some of the year’s most expensive films duke it out. But in this critic proof era can a bad film be a box office champion? Does a bear do its thing in the woods? Is the new Pope Catholic? Does a duck waddle barefoot?
While my gray locks might suggest age if not quite wisdom they are not quite old enough to recall the era of the Cinderella Man, James Braddock. The only time I had previously heard that phrase was from a 1936 film by Frank Capra, Mr. Deeps Goes To Town starring Gary Cooper. It’s the cute yellow journalism name given Coop by Jean Arthur. The Depression era tale relates what happens when a regular guy inherits a fortune and was recently remade (with the Capra-esque social relevance removed) as an Adam Sandler vehicle.
The stories of Deeds, Seabiscuit and Cinderella Man all show strength through character during the adverse economic times of the 1930s and each came to my personal attention mainly because of the movies.
A Google search on the phrase Cinderella Man turned up over 3 million websites. It was all the way at the bottom of the 7th page before a link leads one to a site about James Braddock, with each and every previous entry referring to the new film about Braddock by Ron Howard (starring Russell Crowe and Renee Zellweger). Perhaps this illustrates the proliferation of Internet movie sites that know how to list key phrases in their source code rather than any great interest in the history of boxing.
Cinderella Man was the nickname given Braddock who upset reigning boxing champ Max Baer (father of Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies) for the heavyweight championship of the world on June 13, 1935. Cinderella Man should be the lump in throat, comes from behind, feel good film of the year especially considering how Howard himself has matured as a director with films like A Beautiful Mind (one reel felt like it could have been in a Scorsese film) and the gutsy The Missing.
Cinderella Man is a big step backwards for Ron Howard, dramatically and creatively, and the film will not have the legs to go more than a couple of rounds before the ref starts the count. Technically the film has a gritty Depression-era look with browns and dark hues dominating, and a very old fashioned pace almost as if Howard was trying to make the best film of 1955. Once or twice Howard slips in a modern film reference like a subliminal edit or modulates the color scheme, but overall Cinderella Man moves with the glaciers.
I should like this film more, I mean the protag Braddock (Crowe) and his wife Mae (Zellweger) and their three kids live with pride in a hovel that makes my Montrose apartment look like a manse. And this particular story hasn’t been told, plus like Raging Bull it involves pugilism in a big way but is not necessarily a boxing movie.
The film goes sideways, and Howard loses his way by wavering on whether to make the story center on underdog inspiration or social critique. Braddock hears his friend Mike (Paddy Considine) constantly talking about better days for labor and several scenes take place as Braddock and Mike slave for pennies on the docks. Yet as Mike is found dead after a riot when police bust a shantytown in Central Park any hope of a running thread of social realism throughout the film evaporates.
Cinderella Man exists as a powerful acting vehicle for Crowe, a thesp who pulls no punches. It would’ve been a better move to release this film in November based on award noms for Crowe’s acting chops rather than trying to recapture the magic that Seabiscuit displayed in his summer stint two years ago.
Please, Ron Howard, direct more comedies like Night Shift. Heck, do a remake of Night Shift with Adam Sandler. You have your Oscar, we know you can be serious. It’s just that the more serious you get the more the audience nods off.