The movie features a talented ensemble, depicting the real-life tale of Irish boxing trainer Ingle, who mentored a cheeky Yorkshire youth from Yemeni migrant parents. Dubbed âPrinceâ Naseem Hamed, the fighter was coached to confront racist bullies and molded into a media-friendly world champion in the late 90s. Ingle cultivated his showboating arrogance and powerful punches, but after becoming rich, Hamed turned against his mentor, cutting him out and turning him into a mix of John Falstaff and Broadway Danny Rose.
Brosnan plays Ingle; Amir El-Masry takes on the role of the prince, and Stephens appears as the assertive London promoter Warren, who saw the goldmine that the coach had uncovered.
Yet, the film frankly misses the fighterâs agility: the boxing sequences run smoothly, but the all-important drama in between is repeatedly flat and monotonous. It lacks nuance or light and shade in the depiction of Hamed himself, and El-Masry, an otherwise outstanding performer, doesnât get the opportunity to show any subtlety or much of what might make his role truly engaging â even though heâs clearly been training and looks very plausible in the ring.
The drama is often burdened by functional, expositional lines that inform you exactly what is happening and what we are meant to feel (âYou started your career at age seven âŠâ). This is the kind of script that digital producers call âsecond-screenâ, making sure you understand whatâs going on while youâre watching the film but also glancing at your phone. Additionally, the background music is overpowering, at times almost overwhelming, particularly in the moment where Hamed gets overexcited visiting Warren in his palatial home.
While the leads do their very best, their dynamic never really ignites, and the major boxing moments are often anticlimactically truncated. A key moment is certainly when, provoked past his limit in the training facility one day by Hamed as a delusional âelderâ, Ingle actually proposes to get in the ring and fight him. All present in the room is stunned and uncomfortable. In what way is this insanely risky confrontation going to play out? How precisely the outcome? Surely the Prince is going to kill him? Alternatively will he sentimentally hold back? The resolution remains ambiguous.
Thatâs not to say that there arenât some nice jabs. The actor gets laughs when his character informs a reporter what heâs instructing the kids from his neighborhood: to oppose bias and when you meet a paedophile, âPunch him in the groinâ. Itâs funny too when the boxer fidgets at the ridiculous stunts Ingle makes him do in the beginning: posing as the âmonster from the Eastâ.
Regarding the rift, the film depicts this as being worsened by a tell-all publication that the trainer is supposed to have authored (a plot point evidently modified from another source), and there is an interestingly imagined last discussion â however the heartfelt homage that Hamed is supposed to have given to his mentor after his death is only referenced in the closing credits, and not shown on film. Some interesting material here, but the blows fail to connect.
Giant screened at the festival and is available in British and Irish theaters from 9 January.
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