Million Dollar Baby

Coming into this, I wasn't sure what to expect for overall quality. I knew the third act twist. I was concerned this would neuter the story's impact, that I'd spend all the time waiting for that moment rather than appreciating the overall journey. And I was worried that the performances would be one-note and, worse, predictable; Clint Eastwood would be gruff and taciturn, Morgan Freeman would be soft-spoken and sage-like, and Hilary Swank would be a girl-boss cliche. And, up until the turning point in the story, a paint-by-numbers rise-of-the-underdog sports story. Instead, what I got was an intimate portrait of three people; two men in the twilight of their lives, both nursing trauma they can't let go of, and a woman looking to escape the shackles of her upbringing by any means necessary. These roles could've easily lapsed into the cliches I mentioned already, but Eastwood's direction is steady, patient, and reserved, allowing these characters to be human beings and to naturally react to what happens around them. Two moments towards the end of the movie -- one with Eastwood and Swank in the rehab facility, and another between Eastwood and Freeman -- are quiet but deathly serious conversations that, in the hands of a less confident director, would be underscored with swelling strings designed to shove you in the emotional direction the movie wants. Eastwood doesn't bother with a score in these scenes (and, in fact, used sparingly to the point of surgical precision); he lets facial expressions and pregnant pauses do the heavy lifting. Cinema is a visual medium, after all, and Eastwood recognizes this, here and throughout. As much as the script matters, so does how the story is captured, and it isn't with flourishes of movement or unorthodox camera angles. There's a meat-and-potatoes approach to the cinematography, but it's to the movie's benefit; the camera becomes an invisible witness to the lives of these people and the world they live in. The script works in harmony with the workman-like direction. The dialogue is basic in a natural way, not overly stylized or more intelligent than these characters would talk. The humor comes by way of the relationships, a logical extension of their personalities; Eastwood tells Swank when he decides to be her trainer that he makes all the decisions and she doesn't question anything. Later on, when they're preparing to travel to Vegas for her title fight, he offers her the choice of flying or driving, and she chooses flying there and driving back; when Eastwood says how impractical it is, she reminds him he let her decide, and he smirks knowing he just got caught in a trap he set for himself. Eastwood's character is surly, but not because that's the Standard Clint Eastwood Character Template; it's because the character has backstory that has made him withdrawn, sullen, and somewhat miserable. Swank is determined and defiant, not because she's a girl-boss, but because she comes from a terrible family and a terrible background, so when she talks about why she wants to box and what she'll do for it, there's an believable earnestness. The dialogue exists to reflect who they are at that point in the story, not solely to drive the story forward. Even the incidental characters that, on first blush, feel like throwaways, end up playing roles in the course of the story. I'm far from having seen everything Eastwood has ever acted in or directed, but I have a fair amount of confidence that this might be his finest work in either aspect. Million Dollar Baby aims to tell a story of dreams, the cost of chasing them, the cost of attaining them, and learning how to let go of that which is holding onto us, and it does so with remarkable grace and tenderness. I got nothing I expected from Million Dollar Baby, and I'm so glad for that. This was a surprise from start to finish, a movie that seems almost insultingly simple at a glance, but contains a deeper, more profound meaning, without once feeling preachy or tiresome.