Life, interrupted

Million Dollar Baby (2004)
Warner Brothers presents a Clint Eastwood film, starring Morgan Freeman and Hillary Swank. Written by Paul Haggis. Based on short stories by F.X. Toole. 137m. PG-13 for violence, some disturbing images, thematic material and language.

4.5 stars

Author’s note: This review is considerably spoiler-heavy. It is not to be even glanced at by anyone who does not want major plot elements revealed to them. You have been warned.

To hear Eddie Dupris (Morgan Freeman) tell it, boxing is its own ballet: It’s finding choreography in a dance with an unknown partner. Successful boxers feign one direction so they can unload in another. They also anticipate these strategies from their partner.

“Million Dollar Baby” is about boxing, and like boxing. It’s a boxing movie, until suddenly unfolds into a morality play. Now, thanks to zealots-turned-critics, it’s become front and center in a continuing debate about assisted suicide, euthanasia and pro-life.

One of my few enjoyments anymore is seeing a film of which I know nothing about. Although “Million Dollar Baby” has been wrapped up in this maelstrom, I had managed to avoid the lively debate. Now that I’ve seen it, I’m engaged in another disagreement about whether or not I should reveal major plot twists to my potential readership.

Every critic encounters an unique situation. While I’ve kept mum about other films’ key turning points, I can’t help but think doing so in this case would do myself a grave injustice. I can’t adequately relate to you why this movie had such a powerful resonance if I’m reduced to qualifiers such as “a dark turn” or “something happens here which I must not reveal.”

As I’ve said before, each individual brings their personal politics and their film histories into a movie theater. It’s absurd of me to deny my true self while reviewing, telling readers I’ve above reproach if I find a film presents a view I find repugnant.
And while I’ve always considered myself pro-life across the board, I have found perhaps my true nature in the 24 hours since I saw “Million Dollar Baby.” In it is a tale woven so tightly, it made me reconsider a view I’ve often held strongly.

It tells the tale of Maggie Fitzgerald (Hillary Swank), 31 years old and without passion for much of anything, except boxing. It’s in the Hit Pit Gym, the dues of which she can barely afford on her waitress salary, that she feels like she’s alive. And like the most admirable of go-getters, Maggie has sought out legendary trainer and “cut man” Frankie Dunn (Clint Eastwood) for her tutelage.

Their relationship is like an unlikely symbiosis. In the ring, Frankie has just lost a prized fighter to a more aggressive management team, while Maggie is a potential diamond in the rough. In reality, she unknowingly, and slowly, becomes his chance at retribution. A weekly returned letter from Frankie’s estranged daughter is proof of his need for such reconciliation.
As Maggie becomes a better fighter, she assuages some of Frankie’s more permanent fears. But his own doubtfulness becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy; when Maggie is paralyzed, his blame consumes him.

He’s handed a catch-22 and told to choose: Help Maggie die by assisting in her suicide or come every day to the nursing unit and watch her suffer. Their relationship, already complex, takes on decidedly more perilous overtones.

Frankie, who has never found appropriate answers in the church’s doctrine despite attending mass faithfully every day, turns to his parish priest. Instead of offering any semblance of practical advice, the priest recites long-held dogma that doesn’t address the specificity of the circumstance. Frankie is sent off with the equivalent of a rap on the knuckles; the priest tells him, “If you do this thing you will be lost, somewhere so deep you will never find yourself.”

So is Frankie’s choice one of the ultimate sacrifice, of choosing her life over his? I guess that would depend on who the audience thinks the central protagonist is. If it’s Frankie, then yes, it seems like a tale of great personal sacrifice. But if it’s Maggie, it’s a tale of great hope, of great potential and great determination. Even in death, she was determined to follow through it through to the end.

And what of the charge that some have contended that “Million Dollar Baby” is pushing a pro-choice agenda? Like all art, film is intended to engage us, to test our firmly held doctrines, to manipulate us and to incite us to become enraged, or angry, or passionate, or resolute. Just because there’s more films like “Racing Stripes” than “Million Dollar Baby” these days doesn’t dilute the potential for film.

This film made me react to it, made me insert myself into Frankie’s situation and choose, yes, I would help her die. That thought sickens me, appalls me and makes me embarrassed to even admit, but it’s the truth which I realized only Sunday is contained within me.

I’m forced to re-examine all my beliefs concerning my previously outspoken pro-life attitude. What does this realization say about my relationship with God, who we’re taught in Sunday school is the only person that should control when we die? What does it say about my empathy, my sympathy for others and my willingness to engage in criminal activity to ease an individual’s pain? Could I live with myself if I actually went through with it, destined to relive the experience in a continuum of ‘what-ifs’?

No matter what the eventual answers to these questions, “Million Dollar Baby” has done what few films in 2004 managed: It engaged me, tested me and made me a better person for having seen it.