3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, nudity, sexual content and strong sports violence
By Derrick Bang
Some sports champions, talent
notwithstanding, make themselves very
difficult to admire.
Ryan Lochte immediately comes to
mind. And Dennis Rodman. And, sadly, more than a few others.
Writer/director Jonathan
Jakubowicz’s Hands of Stone profiles
another such individual: Roberto Durán, widely acknowledged as one of the
world’s all-time greatest boxers. As Jakubowicz’s script suggests, Durán’s
skills in the ring couldn’t entirely offset an aggressive, unpleasantly
confrontational personality that resulted from a chip on his shoulder the size
of Pennsylvania.
Certainly he had cause, growing
up in Panama in the 1950s and early ’60s, at a time when U.S./Panamanian
tensions over ownership of the Canal Zone resulted in rioting, military
intervention and nasty international squabbling. Abandoned by his father — an
American marine who had an affair with a local girl — and essentially raised on
the streets, Durán couldn’t help hating the Americans whom he perceived as
thuggish invaders.
All of which makes his eventual
alliance with legendary American trainer Ray Arcel even more fascinating.
Jakubowicz’s film is an engaging
sports drama anchored by two strong starring performances. The narrative is
fairly predictable — insofar as anything about Durán was predictable — and
Jakubowicz’s handling is solid, if unremarkable. The fight choreography,
however, is stunning. Paula Fairfield’s sound design is particularly effective;
rarely have cinematic punches been staged so persuasively, or sounded so
brutal.
On a much lighter note, we can’t
help smiling over the serendipitous casting. Robert De Niro has come full
circle: After winning an Academy Award for his portrayal of boxer Jake La
Motta, in 1981’s Raging Bull, he’ll
very likely garner an Oscar nod for this performance as Arcel.
Jakubowicz cleverly sets up a bit
of parallel structure between Durán (Edgar Ramírez) and Arcel, since both men
had to overcome dangerous challenges. Durán’s mere survival during childhood
was a major accomplishment, along with the luck that propelled him into a
talented neighborhood trainer’s hands.
By 1953, Arcel was a
well-respected promoter/trainer who had nurtured 16 champions during the
preceding two decades. But his plans to bring boxing into American living rooms
via a nationwide broadcast network greatly angered the Mafia kingpins who ruled
the sport in New York; one evening, while Arcel was standing outside a hotel,
he was bashed in the head by a thug who had concealed a lead pipe in a
rolled-up newspaper.
Arcel survived, but the warning
was unmistakable; he retired from the sport and stayed away from boxing for two
decades. Until, in 1972, he got a call from Panamanian boxing manager Carlos
Eleta (played here by Rubén Blades). Eleta had a kid with incredible talent but
no discipline: a powerhouse slugger who relied on brute force and couldn’t be
bothered with strategy. Eleta knew that wouldn’t fly, in the long run; would
Arcel consider coming out of retirement?
Jakubowicz’s script suggests that
this arrangement is tolerated by Mafia boss Frankie Carbo (John Turturro, quietly
reptilian) because Arcel agrees to take the job at no salary, thus fulfilling
his long-ago promise to “never again make money from boxing.” That seems
unlikely, but it’s a cheeky plot point, and easily tolerated.
Unfortunately, Durán hates
Americans — all Americans — and his
initial meeting with Arcel goes nowhere, much to Eleta’s chagrin. It’s a droll
confrontation, the boxer blowing Arcel off while celebrating his latest victory
by indulging in a stack of ice cream cups containing “all 31” Baskin Robbins
flavors. Arcel bids farewell and returns to New York.
Maddeningly, Jakubowicz doesn’t
give us anything approaching a reasonable reconciliation scene, or Durán’s
acceptance of an uneasy truce; when next we see these two men, they’re already
working together, if reluctantly on Durán’s part. Given that the dynamic
between these two men is such an integral part of their collective story, it’s
a frustrating oversight.
Particularly because, from this
point forward, the relationship is fascinating. De Niro is captivating as he
wheedles, cajoles, sweet-talks and threatens his way into Durán’s head, and
it’s refreshing to see the seasoned actor once again sink his teeth into a
serious dramatic role, after a string of fitfully successful comedy junk such
as Grudge Match, Last Vegas and The Big Wedding.
De Niro is terrific here, his
approach to Arcel a charismatic blend of wily subtlety and occasional
impatience, the trainer frequently having to restrain his clear desire — we see
it in the actor’s eyes — to smack his rude protégé upside the head. De Niro
also shares several strong scenes with Ellen Barkin, well cast as Arcel’s
sympathetic but deeply concerned wife, Stephanie, who (quite reasonably)
worries about the consequences of her husband’s return to the career that
nearly got him killed.
Ramírez, in turn, is completely
believable as Durán: haughty, insulting, hot-tempered and foolishly stubborn.
He actually feels dangerous, as if the merest flicker of expression could turn
him into a rage machine (which does, indeed, happen more than once). At the
same time, Ramírez displays the imposing, intimidating physicality that one
expects from a professional boxer, particularly when taking — or delivering —
punishment during the film’s many ring bouts.
Although this boxer/trainer
dynamic is the story’s centerpiece, Jakubowicz also devotes considerable time
to the relationship between Durán and his wife, Felicidad (Ana de Armas), starting
from the point at which the trainee boxer falls head over heels for a
well-to-do schoolgirl from a better part of town. “We’re from two worlds,” she
says, regretfully, early on ... but that doesn’t stop him.
The resulting courtship is quite
sweet, de Armas gradually transitioning from shy and slightly amused, to
fiercely devoted, and then — as the story progresses — chagrined and
distraught. Thanks to make-up and costume design, both Ramírez and de Armas age
convincingly, during the course of roughly two decades.
Grammy Award-winning R&B star
Usher Raymond IV delivers an effective performance as sports icon Sugar Ray
Leonard, whose career intersects Durán’s at several key points. The arc of
their relationship is fascinating, particularly in terms of how it eventually
plays out.
David Arosemena is convincingly
street-tough as the young Roberto, and Óscar Jaenada is a hoot as the
irrepressible Chaflan, a sort of Dickensian Fagin to Roberto and the other
street urchins in the El Chorrillo slums.
Drena De Niro is less successful
as Adele, a long-estranged daughter who re-enters Arcel’s life as these events
proceed. The actress is not to blame; the character remains under-developed and
superfluous, and we can’t help wondering why she’s even present in the film.
Although granted a publicity
campaign that makes it look like a Hollywood effort, Jakubowicz’s film actually
is the biggest film ever produced in Panama: a Latino production with the
widest U.S. release in history. As such, the prevalence of subtitled dialog may
be unexpected (and, hopefully, won’t be a problem for mainstream American
viewers who generally avoid such things).
This is a thoroughly engaging
saga, and — given the active participation of Durán and his family — we should
be impressed by the candor with which the boxer is presented, often in a highly
unflattering light. That certainly makes the story more interesting.
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