Sydney Sweeney fits nicely into the role of famed boxer Christy Martin, partially due to their similar challenges in perceptions. Few expected a simple girl from West Virginia to become a boxing champ, and I’m sure few expected Sweeney to pull off a role where she delivers and takes punches. But much like how Christy was exploited by her husband/coach, Sweeney’s talents play in the service of a by-the-numbers sports biopic, despite the rather grim route it takes.

It never feels like the film is building towards its true potential, considering how it sets up Christy as a closeted lesbian who is despised by her conservative mother, Joyce (Merritt Wever). While her relationship with Rosie (Jess Gabor) sinks further into the darkness of secrecy to the point of a breakup, her boxing career takes off when her fighting attracts the attention of the scrutinizing coach James (Ben Foster). Christy doesn’t like how dismissive James is, but when even Joyce thinks this is a great career opportunity, it might be the only way to live up to being a desired daughter. When Christy accepts James’s instruction, it’s time for the obligatory montage of training and boxing rounds, expectedly laced with a soundtrack appropriate for the eras of the 1990s and 2000s.

The editing and music choices feel a bit out of place here, considering the darker the road Christy travels. Early in her career, the controlling James stresses to his boxing protege that she can’t be seen as a lesbian and makes a quick marriage proposal that she begrudgingly accepts. While this shove into the closet is distressing, the film’s tone feels very off for how it almost passively leans into this romance. It’s hard to see the romantic appeal, considering we mostly witness James’s stern instructions in the ring and sexist remarks outside it. There’s almost a dare by the audience to see if they can spot the abuse and attempted murder that will follow amid the hallmarks of a sports picture, where the boxing matches feel so lacking in flair they might as well have the ESPN logo in the corner.

Given more recent films that take place in the ring, like The Fire Inside and The Smashing Machine, it’s strange how little director David Michôd explores with a compelling character. The aforementioned films had something greater to say about the nature of fighting and the mentality behind the characters. Rarely is there anything more than routine in the direction here, placing Christy’s plight and James’s bitterness in digestible scenes that get the job done rather than evoke some greater appeal. The film stumbles into becoming reflective of Christy’s rise and fall, starting strong with a raging lesbian fighter in the south and ending on notes that feel far too lacking for a tale that was about abuse, wherever it can wedge in between the scenes of Sweeney’s boxing.

Christy is too standard a boxing movie, more admirable for what it says about Sweeney’s performance than Christy Martin’s career. While it was nice to see how the actress can throw herself into such a role, there’s a lack of drama outside the boxing matches, reducing what could’ve been a psychologically engrossing true story into a Lifetime-level tragedy or Netflix true-crime miniseries of the week. Anybody can rattle off the facts of Christy’s case with a cold recount, but it takes a skillful film to find something more beyond the restaging. Unfortunately, this is a picture that seems to be more interested in the boxing matches that are good enough, but not good enough to prop up a film that should’ve been about more than how hard Christy can punch.

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