David Michôd’s 'Christy' Trades Sports Drama for Domestic Terror

Director David Michôd, known for exploring grim themes in works like the simmering crime saga Animal Kingdom, attempts to blend an inspirational sports narrative with an unflinching depiction of domestic violence in his latest film, Christy. The result is a production of uneven style, often feeling lugubrious and pedestrian until the darker, more characteristic elements of the director's sensibility surface. The film follows the rise of real-life 1990s boxing star Christy Martin (Sydney Sweeney), yet for much of its protracted running time, the stakes remain surprisingly low, as Christy easily dispatches a stream of opponents without acquiring significant character depth.

The movie introduces Christy as a West Virginia college basketball player who enters a local boxing contest on a whim. Her punishing straight-right punch immediately attracts the attention of Tennessee promoter Larry (Bill Kelly), launching her into a successful career marked by continuous wins and her eventual capture of the welterweight champion title. As she breezes through the professional circuit, billed to feverish fans as "The Coal Miner’s Daughter," the drama suffers from a palpable lack of conflict despite the constant head and gut slams.

Any concern from Christy's parents, John (Ethan Embry) and Joyce (Merritt Wever), about her pursuit of a violent sport is overshadowed by their fear of scandal. A call from the mother of Rosie (Jess Gabor), Christy's high school girlfriend, immediately puts her parents on high alert. Joyce, in a typically excellent performance by Wever, delivers her stinging judgment with soft sweetness: "What you’re doing isn’t normal and we want you to have a normal, happy life."

When Larry sends Christy to train with Jim Martin (Ben Foster), he pointedly advises her to bring her mother along, suggesting the presence of a girlfriend might not be received well. This setup promises tension surrounding Christy's concealed sexuality, yet neither the script by Michôd and Mirrah Foulkes nor Sweeney's performance lends the queer aspect much necessary depth.

Christy's initial meeting with Jim reveals him to be a discourteous jerk who eyes rolling at the idea of "lady boxers." He attempts to offload her quickly by having a male sparring partner make short work of her, but after absorbing one hit, Christy knocks the man to the mat, forcing Jim to acknowledge her natural talent.

Sweeney, who trained extensively and physically thickened up for the role, initially sports a dark, quasi-mullet that is only less distracting than Foster's own sparse thatch—a surprising oversight given the film's budget. Jim immediately dictates a forced makeover, ordering her to grow her hair out ("Nobody wants to see a butch girl fight") and outfitting her in pastel pink satin robes and shorts for her first pro fight.

If Christy, who appears to have grown up as a tomboy, feels any discomfort about this compulsory feminine presentation, Sweeney’s portrayal doesn’t reveal it. Instead, the character becomes a frustrating mixture of passivity and mouthiness, often coming off as cocky in the ring and at press conferences, where she occasionally uses lesbian epithets against opponents. Her training partner and eventual opponent Lisa Holewyne (Katy O’Bryan) eventually calls out this "tough-girl bravado," telling her, "You make it real easy for people to dislike you," a sentiment sadly reflected in the viewer's experience.

Outside the ring, Christy actively corrects reporters who assume her success makes her a trailblazing feminist, preferring instead to champion the image of a happy wife and homemaker. This makes her a dangerously malleable figure in the hands of the manipulative Jim. While this scenario is the basis for profound domestic abuse, a nagging lack of nuance persists in Sweeney's characterization.

Michôd stages the majority of the matches in a slick but perfunctory style, failing to build real ring tension until Christy faces her first seemingly well-matched opponent, Irish fighter Deirdre Gogarty. This fight, and a grueling faceoff against Laila Ali, are the rare instances where the action genuinely builds intensity. Generally, however, the fight scenes lack poetry, despite Michôd's choice to mix ecclesiastical choral music with Antony Partos’ score.

The progression of Christy's relationship with Jim—from coach to lover to controlling husband—feels strictly by-the-numbers, lacking evidence of genuine mutual feeling. However, when Jim begins to retaliate to her criticisms with violence, the film abruptly shifts into the darker territory more characteristic of Michôd’s best work. Sweeney effectively taps into the pathos of these scenes, though she is perhaps most affecting in her stoic refusal to accept help from those who offer it, such as Rosie or her ringside support team member, Big Jeff (Bryan Hibbard).

A standout scene occurs during a family birthday visit, where Christy draws Joyce aside to confess her fear of Jim's anger and her uneasiness about the sexually explicit videos and photos he insists on taking. Having already been completely charmed by Jim, Joyce responds with a pitying look, reprimanding her daughter for "trash-talking" her husband and declaring, "Oh Christy, you sound crazy."

When Christy finally summons the courage to leave, Jim's reaction is a shocking jolt of violence that instantly elevates the film's intensity and is certain to be the most discussed moment. Yet, despite its horrifying nature, it arrives almost too late to rescue a film that remains stubbornly unaffecting.

While Sweeney deserves acknowledgement for her physical transformation, the character of Christy lacks an essential spark of interest. Likewise, Foster’s role as the controlling villain is a variation he has played too many times to be as chilling as the filmmakers undoubtedly intended.

The film's secret weapon is Merritt Wever, who refuses to soften Joyce’s judgmental coldness even in the face of her daughter's near-death experience. Katy O’Brian and Bryan Hibbard also impress, injecting welcome notes of warmth and tenderness. However, the true livewire performance that sparks up the movie just as it begins to flatten is Chad Coleman as a hilarious Don King figure, chortling away even as he proves himself to be a shrewd businessman with no time for fools.

Ultimately, while Christy showcases Michôd’s technical capability, the film is hampered by a lack of genuine conflict in its sports drama phase, only fully engaging when it veers into the uncomfortable subject of domestic abuse.