This film features a talented ensemble, telling the real-life story of coach Brendan Ingle, who guided a brash Yorkshire youth from Yemeni migrant parents. Known as “Prince” Naseem Hamed, the youngster was coached to confront racist bullies and transformed into a celebrity titleholder in the 1990s. The trainer cultivated his flamboyant arrogance and lethal fists, but after achieving wealth, Hamed turned against his coach, cutting him out and turning him into a mix of John Falstaff and Danny Rose.
Brosnan portrays Ingle; Amir El-Masry takes on the part of Hamed, and Stephens is the bullish promoter Warren, who recognized the potential that Ingle had uncovered.
Yet, the movie honestly misses the fighter’s agility: the boxing sequences flow well, but the crucial story between them is repeatedly flat and monotonous. There is no subtlety or light and shade in the depiction of the protagonist himself, and El-Masry, an otherwise outstanding performer, isn’t given the chance to display any depth or much of what might make his character really interesting – even though he’s obviously been working out and looks very plausible in the ring.
The drama is repeatedly lumbered with utilitarian, explanatory dialogue that tell you precisely what is happening and what we are meant to feel (“Your journey began your boxing journey at seven years old …”). This is the kind of dialogue that streaming-TV executives call “second-screen”, making sure you understand what’s unfolding while you’re watching the movie but also glancing at your phone. Additionally, the score is overpowering, at times nearly overwhelming, particularly in the scene where Hamed gets overexcited calling on Warren in his palatial residence.
While the leads do their very utmost, their dynamic doesn’t quite comes to life, and the major boxing moments are often anticlimactically truncated. A key moment is certainly when, provoked past his limit in the gym one day by the boxer as a delusional “elder”, Ingle in fact proposes to step into the ring and box him. All present in the room is shocked and uneasy. How exactly is this extremely risky confrontation going to play out? How precisely the ending? Surely the champion is going to defeat him? Alternatively will he sentimentally pull his punches? The resolution remains ambiguous.
That’s not to say that there are no some good moments. The actor gets laughs when Ingle tells a reporter what he’s instructing the youths from his neighborhood: to reject prejudice and when you meet a offender, “Hit them in the groin”. It’s funny too when the boxer squirms at the silly antics the coach makes him do in the beginning: posing as the “monster from the Middle East”.
Regarding the falling out, the movie shows this as being exacerbated by a tell-all book that the trainer is supposed to have written (a story element clearly modified from prior material), and there is an intriguingly imagined last discussion – although the emotional tribute that the boxer is supposed to have given to his mentor after his death is only referenced in the closing credits, and not dramatised on film. There is interesting material here, but the punches don’t land.
The film screened at the festival and is in British and Irish cinemas from January 9.