“Uppercut” and the Cost of Ignoring Story

A compelling opening, a brave attempt, and a lot to push into—that is just the first five minutes of “Uppercut.” The film focuses on a tomboyish young woman, Toni (Luiii), wandering and musing, her inner life withheld from the audience. We still have no idea what she wants, and the mood drifts along like a music video rather than a story in motion.

When Toni finally speaks, it is to plead with Elliott (Golden Globe winner Ving Rhames), a former fighter turned gym owner in gritty Bushwick, to let her train in his gym. He is doubtful, and that skepticism feels warranted; the script has not earned either her conviction or his eventual interest. The film hints that this young German waif thinks she can bring order to his life, but that suggestion never develops into a clear emotional or narrative through line.​

Written and directed by Torsten Ruether, “Uppercut” is repeatedly described in press materials as not being a typical boxing movie, and on that point, the film delivers—just not in a good way. Much of it plays like an overextended music video: striking images with little story substance, all laid over an insistently “jazzy” soundscape that feels imported from another era and another New York. Jazz is treated as shorthand for urban grit and soul, but this is not a period piece; smartphones are used, which, for indie filmmakers, is rarely a smart choice, because it dates the film quickly and pulls the viewer out of the story flow.​

The same notes insist the film is really about resilience, mentorship, and human connection. Yet that ambition is constantly undercut by a structure that keeps the viewer at arm’s length. The movie opens with an older Toni, now a pioneering female boxing manager, guiding Payne (Emmy nominee Jordan E. Cooper) through his first championship fight while her young daughter’s health hangs in the balance back home—a configuration of stakes that should be riveting but instead clashes with the earlier material rather than enriching it.​

The result is a confusing maze of time jumps and half-formed arcs that feel allergic to basic three-act storytelling. The Hero’s Journey exists for a reason: audiences respond to clear stakes, progression, and transformation. The most successful boxing films that break the mold—“Million Dollar Baby,” “Creed,” and “The Fighter”—bend convention while still honoring the spine of a story, which is why their character arcs and climaxes land and continue to be cited as models of well-structured sports drama.​

“Uppercut,” by contrast, seems to believe that lush visuals, clean cutting, and committed performances can replace that spine. 

The film looks beautiful, so hats off to Ruether, but to bring the review to a close, there is no coherent emotional journey tying these elements together. 

There is even a straightforward path that might have anchored the material: begin with the younger Toni in voiceover, admitting whether this is a true story, an invented one, or the version she wishes had happened, and then state the core—that it is about love, love of boxing, and all the mess that comes with it. That framing would not make the film conventional; it would give its fractured ambitions a point of view, and its images a reason to exist beyond looking good in isolation.