Christy, a biopic directed by David Michôd and based on the life of Christy Martin — the first female boxer inducted into the Nevada Boxing Hall of Fame in 2016 and the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2020 — is both a fascinating and difficult film to watch, but mostly for the right reasons. Featuring actor Sydney Sweeney (Euphoria, The White Lotus), the film follows Martin (née Salters) as she rises from small-town obscurity in Itmann, W.Va., to the high-octane world of women’s professional boxing, spanning from the late 1980s to the 2010s.
Many have argued that it was Martin, with her long string of early and mid-career successes — including her 1996 victory over Deirdre Gogarty on the undercard of the Mike Tyson–Frank Bruno fight — who legitimized women’s professional boxing to the world. That same victory also led her to become the first female boxer to appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated.
Roughly half of Christy is a rags-to-riches, rise-to-fame story that entertains by revisiting just a few key bouts from Martin’s 23-year career. These include one of her early “Tuffwoman” contest wins (called “Tuffman” in the film), her debut fight against Angela Buchanan in 1989, the aforementioned Gogarty match, her rivalry-sparking 2001 bout with Lisa Holewyne, and her devastating 2003 loss by knockout to Laila Ali for the women’s super middleweight title. But as anyone familiar with the real-life events involving Martin and her then-estranged husband, James V. Martin, on Nov. 23, 2010, knows, there is another story altogether to be told.
“Christy is both a fascinating and difficult film to watch, but mostly for the right reasons.”
The first thing about the film that is likely to catch many viewers off guard almost immediately is how the it convincingly captures the tension and homophobic undercurrents that likely existed within the Salters’ household (Martin’s childhood home) with both of her parents John and Joyce Salters being conservative Christians and teenage Chisty herself quietly being in a not-so-secret lesbian relationship with her high school best friend Rosie.
The family dinner scene shortly after the film’s opening pretty much outlines the situation in a nutshell; Joyce deems young Christy’s friendship with Rosie is abnormal and that it reflects badly upon the neighbourhood’s perception of her parenting skills, thus she threatens to stop helping her daughter with her rent if the behaviour doesn’t cease.
Thankfully, what keeps the opening scenes from getting overly oppressive are Christy’s natural toughness and defiance, which actor Sweeney does a fine job of personifying both physically and emotionally. Reportedly adding on 30 pounds to her frame and enduring three intensive months of training, Sweeney inhabits the role with genuine brashness, rebellious energy, raw physicality, and, when required, foul-mouthed abandon that make it easy for the audience to warm up to her as she gains confidence in her boxing skills.
After impressing the crowd during her third Tuffman contest victory, Christy is discovered by a Tennessee-based boxing promoter named Larry Carrier, who invites her to fight a professional boxer named Angela Buchanan in Bristol. When Christy soundly defeats Buchanan, Carrier is convinced that Martin has something special and connects her with trainer James V. Martin (a.k.a. Jim).
Unsurprisingly, Christy and Jim fail to hit-it-off right away, largely thanks to Jim being a twisted, selfish, chauvinistic brute who doesn’t want to train Christy from the moment he sees her, but with Larry twisting Jim’s arm, Joyce pressuring Christy to move out, and the promise of having a place of her own (albeit a mobile trailer), privacy, and financial independence all being dangled in front of Christy like a carrot, Christy and Jim begrudgingly agree to work together.
Despite Jim being Christy’s senior by 25 years, their working relationship blossoms into a romance as Christy’s star rises, but it all eventually twists and contorts into a marriage gone horrifyingly wrong as Jim becomes increasingly exploitative and controlling over every aspect of Christy’s life.
Therein lies the other fifty percent of the film’s narrative, which is a dramatic character study in how even the strongest, smartest, and most resilient of people can be betrayed by those they trust the most and lured into becoming victims of domestic violence. The film wastes no time in establishing how the abusive patterns start, even before Christy’s training officially begins. “Get her out of here…break a rib if you have to,” Jim whispers derisively to Christy’s sparring partner off to the side before they start trading punches, thinking Christy is just a normal girl in way over her head.
Once he’s proven wrong and realizes Christy has that “special something,” the abuse begins — first verbal, often disguised as compliments, laughter or seemingly friendly advice. Jim forbids Christy from having pie at the local diner, saying, “I don’t want to train a fat fighter.” Later, he suggests she would look prettier with her hair long. When she explains it would get in her face, Jim insists, saying, “[Your current haircut] looks butch like that. Nobody wants to see a butch girl fight.” As Christy’s relationship with Jim turns into marriage, these attacks gradually escalate into more serious ones, including Jim’s oft-repeated threat: “If you leave me, I’ll kill you.”
Christy’s situation is stomach-turning to watch, but it highlights the film’s power to draw the audience in close, keeping them fearful and uneasy about what Jim will say or do next. Will it be a smile and a pat on the shoulder, or a sucker punch to the face?
Speaking of discomfort, while I wouldn’t go so far as to call the performances “Oscar-worthy,” the unwavering commitment from Ben Foster (Jim) and Merritt Wever (Joyce) is striking. Their portrayals are so convincingly hateful that by the time the third act approached, I found myself squirming in my seat, fighting the urge to shout in anger and hurl my smuggled-in snacks at the screen. Throughout the film, both characters reveal themselves as monsters in nearly every sense of the word — especially Jim, who, like the late real-life Jim Martin, was an irredeemable thug whose actions toward Christy can never be justified.
“Sweeney inhabits the role with genuine brashness, rebellious energy, raw physicality, and, when required, foul-mouthed abandon.”
That said, actors Ben Foster and Merritt Wever deserve praise for taking on and fully embracing such difficult supporting roles, knowing full well they’ll be universally despised by audiences — full stop. There are no “villains you’ll love to hate” in this film, and that’s entirely intentional. You’re simply meant to hate them. Christy is a film that’s bound to stir outrage among its viewers — ultimately in a good way — and, much like a boxer’s punching bag, Jim and Joyce are designed to be the focal points of the audience’s anger.
Even so, in what may be the most unsettling testament to both Foster’s acting and the strength of co-screenwriters David Michôd and Mirrah Foulkes’ script, there are several moments between Jim and Christy that show genuine training, sage advice and brief — and I stress brief — glimpses of humanity and paternal concern on Jim’s part. To my surprise, I found myself moved. One example comes when Christy, in the locker room before her first major fight against Deirdre Gogarty, is overcome with jitters. Jim embraces her like a caring father and encourages her, simply saying, “You’re a star. You bring that action.”
Of course, these moments eventually give way to Jim’s self-serving interests and violent, abusive nature. Yet when those rare flashes of empathy, affection and praise break through the cracks in Jim’s façade — whether genuine or manipulative — Christy absorbs them like a flower turning toward the sun. And yes, foolishly, I found myself falling for those same lines — the father-figureless child in me still craving attention and validation. Do they make him more human, a more persuasive predator, or both? I still haven’t quite figured it out.
It’s difficult to enjoy Christy purely as a boxing film given its darker side, but the movie still manages to stage a few compelling fights — most notably the Gogarty and Ali bouts and their lead-ups. The fight choreography feels somewhat telegraphed, perhaps reflecting Sydney Sweeney’s actual boxing experience. But to be fair, as mentioned earlier, she had only three months to train.
“There are no ‘villains you’ll love to hate’ in this film, and that’s entirely intentional.”
I do wish more had been done with the supporting cast to humanize them, particularly Christy’s coal-mining father, John Salters (played by Ethan Embry), and her younger brother, Randy (Coleman Pedigo). John rarely speaks and mostly lets Joyce run the show, but in private, he’s deeply empathetic toward his daughter.
It’s puzzling, then, that during a moment of crisis in the middle of the film, Christy chooses to confide in Joyce instead of John and never seeks his help afterward. Perhaps that’s how it happened in real life, but it never sat right with me, even after the credits rolled. Meanwhile, Joyce — the film’s secondary antagonist — goes so far beyond the pale in how she verbally mistreats Christy that she comes across more like a cartoon villain than the real person she was.
On the other hand, Christy’s former rival, later co-trainer and eventual spouse, Lisa Holewyne, is one of the film’s bright spots. Katy O’Brian, who plays her, shares strong chemistry with Sydney Sweeney and deserves recognition. And regardless of what you think of Don King, Chad L. Coleman’s energetic, no-nonsense portrayal of the legendary boxing promoter during his meetings with Christy provides some of the funniest moments in an otherwise dark film. The movie could have used more of them.
In the end, I enjoyed Christy, despite my discomfort with its subject matter and depictions of domestic violence. It’s an unapologetically messy film — there are scenes that are hard to watch, characters you’ll despise, and a few late-story developments that may stretch belief. But the events it portrays are, by most accounts, true. The result is a sports drama that’s still worth watching, with a message that viewers of all backgrounds and identities should hear. Boxing fans, sports enthusiasts and moviegoers alike owe it to themselves to see Christy. And if you’re unfamiliar with her story, I recommend avoiding spoilers and going in blind for the strongest emotional impact. Just be warned — it’s not a film for the squeamish.
