“You have to think about how you will be remembered.”
—That’s all, Bill. Who remembers me?
This exchange, midway through Robert Kolodny’s snappy biopic “The Featherweight,” perfectly sums up the anxieties lurking at the heart of his tragic figure. The man, of course, is two-time world featherweight champion Willie Pep, who fought more than 230 fights in his career and won more than his fair share. Of course, this was in the 1940s and 1950s, as the grainy newsreels show us. When we meet him here, it’s 1964, and Pep (James Madio), now 42, is looking to get back in the ring. And a camera crew is here to capture this vintage comeback, turning Kolodny’s film into a forceful meditation on midlife crises and fading fame — even if he doesn’t land all his punches.
Captured as a kind of direct cinema documentary. To the In the Maysles’ film, “The Featherweight,” we’re left like a fly on the wall in the face of Pep’s ambitious return to the ring, now well past his prime. The documentary, or so Pep believes, is meant to celebrate the return of an aging champion, proof that he still has what it takes to compete. But for the next hour and a half, those same cameras simply shine a light on the fissures that exist in his personal and professional life. That’s the compelling core of Kolodny’s film, which mixes a kind of “Raging Bull”-style in-ring character study with the probing questioning of documentarian and protagonist.
Madio, a reliable character actor who finally gets the kind of starring role he deserves, is endearingly edgy as Pep, a short Sicilian with a lot of pride to hurt. And a career of knockouts, ex-wives and the vagaries of time have certainly dealt him some knocks. When we meet him, he’s a bit of a jerk. also Eager to share stories of his glory days, the boys at the diner seem to like him, but his business manager (Ron Livingston) and his old trainer (Stephen Lang) see him for the sorry exhibit he is. At every appearance he makes, he’s also pursued by his nemesis, black featherweight Sandy Saddler (Lawrence Gilliard Jr.), whose KO of Pep in his prime makes his parallel descent into obscurity sting all the more. Pep talks a lot about getting back into fighting, but no one wants him; the more aggressively he pursues him, the more pathetic he becomes.
It’s easy to understand why he haunts these ghosts, though; his family life isn’t much better. His third wife, a much younger woman named Linda (Ruby Wolf), is pursuing her own budding acting career just as Pep’s stride is losing its own vigor. His mother (Imma Aiello) is the classic tight-lipped woman. grandmotherspeaking only in Italian around the table so Linda can’t understand the insults. Then there’s Billy Jr. (Kier Gilchrist), a young man who’s angry that Pep left his mother and has a drug problem he can’t seem to shake. Willie Pep might as well change his last name to Loman.
Cinematographer Adam Kolodny (Robert’s brother) captures these intimate tensions in a fascinating, period-accurate 16mm simulacrum; the title and font designs scream 1960s, and it’s easy to get lost in the documentary immediacy of the events. Every scene is captured with Cassavetes-esque naturalism, all jitters and quirks experienced among the cast. The actors were encouraged to improvise before shooting, which lends a looseness and unpredictability to their interpretations of Steve Loff’s script. This is then accentuated by Kolodny’s wavering camera, which weaves and weaves between the actors like a skilled boxer.
But all these tools, and all these period details, serve to create a slow-burning story of glory that feels like it’s been told before. An aging athlete past his prime, trying to recapture his youth while his personal life falls apart? Wake me up if you’ve heard this story before. There are also moments when the looseness of the narrative leads to a slow pace, especially in the second act; we’re often left waiting for the good, as Willie is. But the film happily picks up where it belongs in the third act, a double whammy of personal tragedies that only highlight the ways in which Willie has failed (and been failed by) others, all in the futile pursuit of his lost status.
Most intriguing, though, is the way Kolodny pits his characters against the camera, as they slowly come to realize the true cost of opening their lives to the cameras. Willie or Linda slip up and then ask the off-camera filmmakers to “leave that part out” (which we see means, of course, that they didn’t). It’s an interesting twist on the drama, the mere presence of the camera reflecting the selfishness and vulnerability of our characters. It’s handled subtly, a stylistic twist that more than justifies the concept of a narrative documentary.
“The Featherweight” elevates its tale of middle-aged men looking for their glory days with some smart, unexpected performances and a genuinely intriguing aesthetic framework. It may not be a total knockout, but it does pack a few good punches before the bell rings.