If ever there was a good egg in boxing it was James J. Braddock who held the heavyweight championship in mid-Depression from 1935 to 1937. It was Damon Runyon who tagged him “the Cinderella Man.” Braddock was far from the greatest. In fact he’d be rated not that high among the lesser title-holders. But for Christian goodness and honor he is number one of all-time. And Ron Howard and Russell Crowe have teamed-up again (after A Beautiful Mind) to put together a movie account of this gent’s not-so-glamorous life that’s so moving and soulful that this old fight fanatic choked-up more than once.

Braddock is not even the most charismatic character in the film. This claim goes to newcomer Craig Bierko who plays a truly menacing Max Baer, who killed two men in the ring. And as for Ron Howard – who would have thought that little Opie of the old Andy Griffith Show would become one of our finest directors? He and his writers, with tremendous help from photographer Salvatore Totino and the editing of Hill and Hanley have impeccably selected just the right periods of Braddock’s up and down career to totally engage us in his humble life. This said in contrast to today’s motor-mouth clowns starting with the miserable boor Cassius Clay, and all those who followed.

Jim Braddock was a soft-spoken lower-middle class Irish-American who could take a joke and give a joke - a church-going family man with a wife, Mae (Renee Zellweger), and three kids. In the late ‘20s he was an up-and-coming light-heavyweight (175 lbs) with 20 wins before losing. Joe Gould, his manager, is played by Paul Giamatti (Sideways), fast becoming film’s best character actor. Jim and Gould seem to have had the same laconic sense of humor. Theirs is a world far away and long ago: 70 years ago, kiddies. Quite naturally the vast majority of the fighters were white, there were 15-round fights, and even Jewish guys were boxers (and damn good ones too). Cigar-smoke filled the arenas and fighters were paid in cash back in the dressing rooms.

The general public and almost all sportscasters don’t like boxing – much less know anything about it. However, one notes that boxing movies are usually quite popular, most prominently of course Rocky (1976) and Raging Bull (1980); both superb films, bombastic and dynamic. But take a tip from your old reviewer who’s been a fight fan for sixty years: Cinderella Man is better. For starters the choreography is perfect. I got news for you: real boxing does not look like the Rocky fights. And punches don’t sound like hand-grenades exploding as in Raging Bull.

In 1928 Braddock comes back to his nice home after a big win and he his wife have a drink and some laughs on their lawn. Renee Zellweger seems to be a totally fearless actress – taking on every kind of role; dress her up or dress her down. Think of Bridget Jones, Cold Mountain, Chicago, Jim Carrey’s Me, Myself and Irene, and even a Hasidic housewife in A Price Above Rubies.

But in a flash the film jumps to grim 1933 and the terrifying Depression that we sissies of today with our credit cards and cell phones can barely imagine. Jim and his family now live in the basement of a rat-hole tenement. He works in the shipyards – that’s on days he’s picked out of a crowd of pleading poor men at the gates. Whatever we find out about the previous five-years is told in flashback chatter: Braddock’s big problem was he was injury prone. Numerous bouts he fought with a broken hand and cracked ribs, and back then a 30-year old man was older than today – and the losses piled up.

Things get worse. The heat and electric is turned off and the kids must be shipped out to relatives. Then and only then Jim hits the relief lines, then goes to the Madison Square Garden Men’s Club and standing in the middle of the room begs the men who once knew him and passes the hat. Most of ‘m put in a buck or two, the last being Joe Gould. And Jim has enough to get the juice back on at the house. If this scene doesn’t move you, you have a heart of stone.

Soon after, Joe shows up in Jim’s beastly neighborhood with a little deal, playing a hunch – a gift that all good boxing managers must have. He has a filler poop-fight to flesh out the card for the big Carnera-Max Baer title go. It’ll be a $250 payday for Jim to fight an ugly brute built like a beer truck. And surprisingly, Braddock wins in a two-round KO.

Now Joe Gould has something to work with and pitches Jim to the fat man with the cigar in the backroom. There always a “fat man” with a cigar. It’s a tough sell, but Joe talks the talk and garners a bout with a classy black guy of the ‘30s – John Henry Lewis – and Cinderella Man wins again! Next it’s a big Jewish pug named Art Lansky who’s an inch away from a title shot with Baer, who had murdered the big lummox Carnera. Lansky is one tough customer with an ugly snout to match. The action is lengthy and tres ferocious. And here photographer Salvatore Totino shows his stuff with slick swish pans around the ring and into the crowd and back. But best of all, he holds the camera close-up on the fighter’s faces so you can almost imagine what they’re thinking (and it ain’t good) and saints persarve us [sic]! Braddock wins again, and is suddenly the mandatory challenger for Baer’s crown. The quirky Baer at first refuses to fight “Broken Down Braddock.” He’s afraid of killing another opponent. But he knows he must, and quickly dons the “killer” role.

The promoters are edgy. They give Braddock a last chance to back out by showing Joe and he films of Baer beating an opponent to death. Max fights like a crazed maniac. Not only does Jim not back out, but asks to run it again and steps toward the screen to spot Baer’s flaws.

Next comes the press conference with Mae and Jim sitting behind the microphones as he humbly fields questions from the excitable reporters. And oh what a difference from today’s idiotic clown shows! However later there’s the obligatory night club scuffle between wiseguy Max and the Braddock’s tables. Baer’s a young man in his party years with always a couple pretty girls on his arms. Though a killer in the ring, he’s a joker too; and newcomer Craig Bierko brings a fresh repertoire of expression to this character-type (let’s see more of Mr. Bierko). And, oh yes, Baer wears a Jewish star on his trunks at this time with Hitler on the rise.

[And wouldn’t you know, Mr. Wonderful, Bob Costas, on a recent TV show criticized the film for anti-Semitism. Costas is good, and I wonder who pushed him into playing the anti-Semitic card? As if madcap Max would not play the fool from time-to-time in his young life. Bad show, Costas. Didn’t think you had the PC plague.]

The day of the fight arrives and Braddock bids goodbye to his terrified family and neighbors and is off in the limo, which gives off hearse-vibrations. And Mae makes a bee-line to church to pray, and when she gets there is struck dumb! The pews are packed and the boxing-loving “father” has a big old ‘30s radio on the stage ready to blast off at fight time.

          [And what would Christ think of boxing? It’s supervised, says I.]

Jim and Gould playfully kibitz in the dressing room. As usual, Joe’s advice is “win.” And they enter the stadium from the passageway and pause; and this scene is what your humble reviewer calls that “goosebump” moment of a great film.

After the usual bull and introductions, the bell sounds for round one. And get ready for the damndest slugfest you ever saw on your silver screen!

The Cinderella Man is a film about an uncomplicated, nice American man. And movies don’t come better.

There’s a word that could sum-up this whole wonderful movie. It’s a word not used or displayed much any more: it’s called “decency.” Praise Jesus!