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The Fire Inside 2024 Movie Review
We’re only halfway through Rachel Morrison‘s feature directorial debut, “The Fire Inside,” when the biopic’s subject, Olympic boxer Claressa “T-Rex” Shields (rising actress Ryan Destiny), wins her first gold medal. And, perhaps you’re thinking, then what? Such is the thrust of the longtime cinematographer’s long-gestating directorial debut, a passion project the “Mudbound” and “Black Panther” DP has been trying to get made for years. What happens after you reach the ostensible peak of your career?
For the real-life Shields, who won her first gold medal at the tender age of 17 at the 2012 Olympics, that question lingered for years. In Morrison’s film, scripted by her frequent collaborator Barry Jenkins, it only really sticks for the film’s second half. And while some of the concerns that take hold during that period of her life — financial, emotional, professional — are often handled in a surprisingly messy way by the normally precise Jenkins, the choice to focus far beyond the genre-friendly rise of a star is refreshing.
Opening in Flint, Michigan, in 2006, we’re quickly steeped in young Claressa’s life (she’s played in the film’s first moments by Jazmin Headley). Her home life is unsatisfying (and not just emotionally, but also physically, as we soon witness the frequently empty cupboards that line the family’s kitchen), and her only respite is the dim hope that she might be able to join some local boxing classes, led by coach Jason Crutchfield (Brian Tyree Henry, characteristically warm and emotive). He doesn’t train girls in his community gym, but Claressa keeps showing up, and she soon shows something key: “She’s got hands.”
That Barry Jenkins’ script will subvert the usual sports biopic tropes is to be expected (this is Barry Jenkins, after all), but that bent is made early on: Claressa’s ambition and drive are clear, but no one acts as if she’s some sort of boxing phenom sent straight from Heaven. When Jason agrees to coach her, it’s not because she’s showed off some insane level of talent he can’t deny, it’s because she’s steady and dependable and it’s obvious she’ll keep showing up every day.
When we fast forward five years later, she has. The dividends are profound: She’s a world-class boxer a teenager bound for her first Olympic trials (and, then, as we know, her first Olympics), beloved by her community, and bonded intensely to her coach. Her home life has not improved much: Her mother, played thrillingly by Olunike Adeliyi, remains a volatile presence, while her younger siblings rely on ‘Ressa to support them in ways that should never be foisted on any teen. With the trials looming — with her career looming — everything is on the line.
Then what? Becoming an Olympic athlete isn’t all sunshine and roses, and Jenkins’ script doesn’t scrimp on the challenges Shields faced: family concerns, an Olympic machine that doesn’t allow Jason to accompany her, and expectations around what it means to be a “female athlete” in a world that tends to like them cute, plucky, and not exactly punching people.
Why does Claressa box? Well, she likes hitting people. She’s a bully. She admits that. That’s not a philosophy that flies with most people, but Destiny’s performance, balancing Claressa’s grit and her heart, does plenty to make “The Fire Inside” audience root for it, and her.
That Morrison — a beloved DP and the first-ever woman to be nominated for the Best Cinematography Oscar — would make a film that looks this lovely doesn’t surprise. With rising DP Rina Yang lensing this one, the lighting is lush and the staging intimate. Boxing sequences are particularly thrilling: fast, athletic, and eager to show the effort that goes into this sport. They’re not bruising so much as intimate. You feel like you’re in the ring with Claressa, but you also understand the journey it took to get there.
The journey out of it is a bit rougher, both in terms of the narrative of Morrison’s film and the actual trajectory of Shields’ real life. As Claressa struggles to figure out what’s next for her, so too does the film. Smaller touches say much more than the big swings: Destiny narrowing her eyes at a stack of Wheaties boxes in the grocery store, all adorned with male Olympians, says far more than some of the more blunt exposition that attempts to place Shields as emblematic of all female athletes.
The point is, of course, she’s not. And while the first half of the film keenly understands that, delicately twisting the expectations of a rousing sports biopic into something far more intimate, the second half struggles to understand what that means. For a story about that precise struggle, the disconnect that emerges is awkward and threatens to derail what’s unfolding, both on screen and in real life. The film still ends in rousing fashion, but it recognizes something far more profound: There are no actual conclusions in real life, even if we can feel moments of triumph throughout. It’s what next that matters.