‘They Fight’ Review: A Boxing Film Caught Between Intimate Character Study and Formula Sports Narrative

Boxing films tend to follow a familiar grammar. In more ways than one, they operate as life metaphors: the punches thrown and absorbed trace the risks, detours and reversals of the characters who step into the ring. But boxing gyms are also sites of community and resilience—spaces of refuge for fighters, former fighters and kids just starting out. And for trainers, too, they can offer a second act, a way of rebuilding a life by passing knowledge on to a younger generation.

They Fight tries to tap into all of those strands—arguably too many at once—assembling a narrative that wants to be several films simultaneously: the ex-con returning to the gym where he once worked; the young boxers dreaming of success; and the off-ring struggles that inevitably spill back into the ring. They Fight gathers these threads without digging deeply into any of them, as if it can’t settle on a single dramatic axis before moving on to the next. In fictionalising a real story—previously told in a 2018 documentary of the same name—the director seems bound to hit every narrative beat, sacrificing the structural discipline a more freely conceived screenplay might have provided.

The strongest section is the first. It follows Walt (the always compelling André Holland) as he leaves prison after serving time for drug-related offences. He wants to return to his partner (Samira Wiley), with whom he shares a young son and a complicated past, but she’s understandably reluctant to let him back in. His old friend Slim (Wendell Pierce, bringing his usual gravitas), who runs the gym, urges him to come back and coach, yet Walt initially opts for a more “conventional” job—despite the physical toll (he has chronic back pain), the time it takes, and even periods without a place to sleep.

Eventually, Walt does begin training a group of kids at the Washington, D.C. gym, notably two friends, Quincey (Toussaint Francois Battiste) and Peanut (Anthony B. Jenkins). Gradually, however, the film sidelines Walt—its most compelling figure—to focus on the boys, whose lives prove more complicated than their easygoing, girl-obsessed pre-teen façade suggests. By the midpoint, when an inter-club competition takes shape, They Fight has effectively morphed into a more conventional sports drama.

That shift feels somewhat arbitrary. Walt is the film’s most textured element, and once he recedes, the narrative loses force. The larger issue, though, is the film’s increasing reliance on blunt, crowd-pleasing devices. What begins as a dry, realist portrait of a former inmate trying to rebuild his life gradually fills up with scored montage sequences, highlight-reel flourishes and overemphatic stylistic choices. By halfway through, the initial indie drama has given way to a more generic, quasi-epic sports movie, handled with a certain clumsiness. You’re left with the sense that the film might have worked better had director Sheldon Candis committed to one register. By straddling both, it dilutes each.

That’s a pity, because—even while trying to cover Walt’s story, his partner’s, the young fighters’ and the broader world around them—They Fight could have landed with greater impact through a tighter script and more coherent mise-en-scène. As it stands, the film’s ESPN-produced sheen (the sports network backs it through a studio focused on African American stories) ultimately overrides the rougher indie texture of its opening stretch. The result isn’t a failure, but it falls short of the promise it initially suggests, ending on a mildly disappointing note.