Christy (United States, 2025)

At the outset, it seems like Christy is going to be just another sports biopic. You know the kind: talented youngster struggles for recognition, catches the attention of an insightful trainer, becomes a big sensation, has an unexpected fall from grace, and makes a triumphant comeback. Most sports movies, whether true-to-life or fictional, follow that pattern or a similar one because it’s what audiences want. And, for about the first half, Christy delivers along those lines. Nothing special (outside of Sydney Sweeney’s remarkable performance) – just another feel-good story about overcoming adversity and sailing into orbit…until things get dark. And when they get dark, they get really dark. That’s when Christy stops being predictable and starts being powerful. It’s also where the movie distinguishes itself from the long line of formulaic sports dramas.

The ugliness that surfaces during the second half isn’t a writer’s invention—it’s drawn directly from the life of female boxer Christy Martin. These aren’t things that writer/director David Michod and co-scribe Mirrah Foulkes conjured up to add drama; they’re reflective of the real-life nightmare Martin endured. She’s remembered for three things: her fierce in-ring presence, her advocacy work, and her victimization at the hands of her longtime trainer and husband, James (Ben Foster). The last of those provides the film’s most shocking and unforgettable sequence—one that changes the tone from inspirational to harrowing.

Christy becomes riveting when it leaves behind the safe confines of sports-movie tropes and dives into the toxic dynamics of Christy and James’ marriage. The film tries to understand how a woman so formidable in the ring could be rendered powerless at home. The answer lies in the insidious mechanics of domestic abuse: the erosion of confidence, the isolation, the learned helplessness. In the ring, Christy has control and clarity. At home, she’s cut off—her mother takes James’ side, her friends drift away, and her support system crumbles. Michod doesn’t sensationalize her suffering, but he doesn’t flinch from it either.

The early scenes are familiar and deceptively comforting, introducing Christy as an underdog fighter with raw talent but little direction. Her small-time bouts earn tiny purses until a promoter, Larry (Bill Kelly), spots potential and connects her with James Martin, whose initial contempt gives way to opportunism when he realizes she could be his ticket to fame. Meanwhile, her romance with Rosie (Jess Gabor) buckles under the weight of religious and familial judgment—especially from her rigid, unforgiving mother, Joyce (Merritt Wever). With Rosie gone, Christy drifts into James’ orbit, mistaking his control for affection. It’s a downward slide that’s painful to watch precisely because it feels authentic.

This is a career-defining risk for Sweeney, who’s intent on escaping Hollywood’s pigeonholing of her as a limited-range performer. (To date, she’s best known for the teen drama series Euphoria, the Netflix thriller The Voyeurs, and the rom-com Anyone But You.) Like Charlize Theron in Monster, she embraces physical transformation as a conduit for emotional truth, and the results are electric. Playing opposite Sweeney, Ben Foster digs deep to amp up the creepiness factor to the point where it's difficult to understand what Christy might have seen in James. And, in a small role, Chad L. Coleman dazzles as boxing promoter extraordinaire Don King (before King became a walking self-parody).

Technically, Christy is strong. The boxing sequences in particular stand out. They are staged with clarity—no rapid-fire editing or shaky-cam gimmicks—making the fights feel immediate and grounded. Although Christy doesn’t build toward a single climactic match, the authenticity of its in-ring action strengthens the film’s emotional core.

At 135 minutes, Christy occasionally strains under its own weight. Key relationships—particularly those with her family and with rival-turned-friend Lisa Holewyne (Katy O’Brian)—get short shrift, and the film skims over her drug dependency, which could have added further dimension. The decision to trace roughly two decades of her life in strict chronological order leads to some uneven pacing. Yet when the story moves into the 2000s, Christy finds its true identity—not as a tale of athletic triumph but as a portrait of endurance and survival. It’s messy, painful, and deeply human, which makes it far more compelling than the average true-life sports drama.

Christy (United States, 2025)