Fighting

Saturday 16th May 2009, 2:45PM BST.

Strutting down similar avenues to David Fincher’s Fight Club, albeit without that film’s biting wit and directorial pizazz, Fighting is a no-holds-barred tale of one young man’s introduction to the bare-knuckle brawl scene in present day New York City.

Writer-director Dito Montiel, who made an assured debut with A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, reunites with rising star Channing Tatum, who copes magnificently with the extreme physical demands of his role.

Montiel unleashes a series of unflinchingly brutal brawls set to a thunderous soundtrack of R&B and hip-hop beats courtesy of Rick Ross, Robin Thicke, Amerie and Ghostman MC.

Competitors pile-drive one another’s heads into marble floors and smash ribs to smithereens, accompanied by sickening sound effects that leave us wincing in our seats.

The Marquess of Queensberry rules hold no sway here: it’s win at all costs even if that means your rival leaves the arena in a wooden casket.

Shawn MacArthur (Tatum) lives from one day to the next by selling counterfeit goods on street corners.

When a fight breaks out, scam artist Harvey Boarden (Terrence Howard) spots Shawn’s raw potential and offers to make the young man 5,000 dollars minus expenses for one brawl.

Shawn accepts and Harvey introduces his protege to the illegal bare-knuckle circuit: a haven for gamblers with vast sums of money to burn.

At the centre of this universe are promoter Jack Dancing (Roger Guenveur Smith) and his right-hand man Christopher (Anthony DeSando), who organise big-money showdowns for the best athletes.

Shawn’s first bout shows impressive range and endurance, and Harvey is offered bigger matches with larger purses.

As he moves ever closer to a showdown with former wrestling buddy Evan Hailey (Brian White), Shawn kindles a romance with single mother Zulay (Zulay Henao), who lives in a cramped apartment with her baby and eccentric grandmother (Altagracia Guzman).

Fighting assaults the senses at every opportunity, but never engages the mind.

Character development is sketchy, with hints of Shawn’s gloomy past reflected in his dialogue: ‘You think I don’t know I’m nothing? I get it, I’m worth nothing.’ The romantic subplot with Henao’s sassy waitress simmers yet never quite boils, but does provide respite from the crunching of bones.

Tatum is convincing as an unfortunate bruiser, for whom a well-timed flurry of punches to the midriff speaks louder than words.

Howard remains firmly on the sidelines, while Guzman is hysterical as the meddlesome old dear who refuses to let her granddaughter entertain male callers at all hours of the night.

Book-marked by ferocious brawls, Montiel’s film neatly ties up all of the loose ends, including a climactic sleight of hand that we see coming a mile off.

A good fighter should be able to feint to keep his audience on the back foot but on this showing, Fighting certainly lets its guard down and never counters with a knockout punch.