A Million Dollar Recipe

In 2005, Million Dollar Baby knocked out the competition to become the year’s Best Picture according to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. However, according to Robert Sklar and Tani Modleski (2005), the film was an underdog from the beginning, just like it’s protagonist Maggie Fitzgerald. Adapted from a short story, the screenplay seemed to get lost in the huddle of other scripts being shopped around Hollywood. The search for a director went through a list of names with none sticking. The process for finding a production studio was similar as well. But when the formula was finally solved, the results should have been enough to give American a wet dream. Clint Eastwood. Morgan Freeman. In a boxing movie. Isn’t that just what America would want?

Clint Eastwood has long been a fixture of American cinema. Audiences have been drawn to him across all generations. Maybe it’s his honest face or his unique way of speaking. He has that strange gravelly tone that comes out like a whisper but with all the force of an echoing shout. It’s disconcerting when you’re in trouble, but comforting when he’s in your side of the ring. Sklar and Modleski make their explanation for his appeal: “…Eastwood has appeared in films for nearly half a century. Given the male privilege of aging on screen, he has transcended the callow beauty of his youthful visage to become an older man’s body, and even more a face, the interest of which has come to transcend politics and ideology, left and right. There is a metaphor for life in the taut skin, wrinkled neck, lined face, and deeply creased forehead that speaks of longevity and mortality more than it does of conservatism versus liberalism” (p. 8). Sounds like the honest face is the winner then.

The Academy itself has given Eastwood his due respect. He’s a recognizable and decorated leading man, but his directing has commanded its own attention “…Sprawling as it is, his output has unmistakable signatures. His doomed underdogs, reluctant avengers, lawless lawmen, unlikely fathers, and damaged children are captured by a camera

that is never flashy but is exactly where it needs to be…” (Sullivan 2011, p. B13).In Chronicle of Higher Education, author Jack Sullivan even laments that his semester-long college course on Eastwood has to be narrowed considerably; the amount of material he has produced is simply too much to be contained. His presence on-screen in Million Dollar Baby is equally without restraint. His constant guidance as Frankie goes beyond what we are presented with onscreen. We can feel his paternal patience and love towards his fighter right through the screen. We want him in our corner.

Eastwood’s directing capabilities added to his automatic magnetism as an actor is more than enough to make a successful film. But why not sweeten the pot with a little dose of Morgan Freeman? To put it simply, “He’s [Freeman] become the go-to guy for directors needing an avatar of unimpeachable decency” (Timm 2008, p. 57). The author continues on to describe the actor in only one word: perfect. Freeman commonly serves as the wise supporting character, the constant voice of reason, and often just the voice of the entire film. Such is the case of Million Dollar Baby. He provides the film’s narration in soothing, easy to listen to bass tones. He guides the story, even through the most painful of events in Maggie’s career as a boxer.

These two men could headline any film into the stratosphere. But Million Dollar Baby tosses them a softball, a boxing film. A film genre almost inseparable from American history and culture. Rocky and Raging Bull both solidified their place in film culture and Academy Award history through their take on the boxing genre. Resonating with almost all viewers are the core conflicts in a boxing film: “body versus soul; opportunity versus difference; market values versus family values; and, finally, anger versus justice (Grindon 1996, p. 54). These conflicts are cross-cultural, appealing to truly American ideals- to be a hero, to be a fighter, to be a victor. We are Maggie, conquering our age, living out our dream. We are taking every chance, every opportunity for what we believe we are meant to do. We are hooked in her fight as it proves cathartic for our own fight. Grindon continues his discussion, isolating nostalgia and pathos as lynchpins in the emotional response of a boxing film. 2003’s Best Picture provides us with that, too. Raising Maggie up in the ranks as a fighter, helping her grow and mature as an adult, and showing her the way out of the previous life she was accustomed to, her trainer Frankie cares for her like the daughter he never knew. He’s almost nostalgic for something he never had but wanted so dearly. We end up feeling pathos, or sadness, pity, sympathy, for almost everyone portrayed in the film, but specifically for our female boxer. Maggie struggled for so long chasing her dream, and when she finally realized it, it was such a short ride at the top. Her downfall at the end is painful and difficult to watch. We wanted our girl to finish on top, not seemingly dead last.  Maybe in this way, Million Dollar Baby breaks some boxing film tradition. In the end, our hero is no longer the victor.

In many ways, it seems as if this film would in fact have been the perfect recipe for an American drama. Actors who we love doing the routine of a genre with which we can identify. However, after viewing, Million Dollar Baby leaves behind a confused feeling. It’s power can be felt and even pondered for days, but you’re not quite sure if you would have cast your vote for it as Best Picture. Maybe the naysayers were right. A perfect recipe does not always a delicious dish make.

 

References:

Grindon, L. (1996). Body & sould: The structure of meaning in the boxing film genre. Cinema Journal, 35(4), 54-69.

Sklar, R., & Modleski, T. (2005). Million Dollar Baby A Split Decision. (Cover story). Cineaste, 30(3), 6-11.

Sullivan, J. (2011). Clint eastwood: Hollywood’s enigmatic icon. Chronicle Of Higher Education, 58(14), B13-B14.

Timm, J. (2008). But morgan freeman is so perfect. Maclean’s, 121(33), 57.