Le champion

this is one touching,heartwarming movie.it's all about the love a father has for his son and vice versa.Wallace Beery is good as the dad,but it's Jackie Cooper(nine years old,at the time)who steals the show)as the son.as a nine year old child,Cooper showed acting ability and maturity way beyond his years.this film has little to do with boxing,and in fact,the one big boxing scene is quite comical,and not in a good way.thank goodness,it secondary,and doesn't lesson the overall impact of the movie.the ending is unexpected and hit me like a punch to the gut.it's a powerful moment,and deeply affecting.for me,The Champ(1931)is a 7/10

'The Champ' seems to have been a blueprint film for all the others of the tough-tender school that followed it, and - owing entirely to Jackie Cooper's playing perfectly off of Wallace Beery's has-been, alcoholic pug - it's perfectly charming.

Yes, the fight scene is rather hokey: had they tried to use Wallace Beery's telegraphed-the-day-before roundhouse punches, even the toe-to-toe sluggers of 'The Champ's bygone day wouldn't have survived one round in the ring. But the film isn't about the fight scene, it's about the love of father for son and son for father - and to this day 'The Champ's' story artfully delivers its soft knock-out blow with tender sucker punches and love-taps to the heart.

Compared with today's fare 'The Champ's' pacing is slow but the time taken works nicely, especially in the one-on-one scenes captivatingly played by Cooper and Beery.

There's plenty of archetypal King Vidor composition-in-frame that's still imitated today, and in many instances the lighting is exemplary of the gorgeous black & white textural artistry of Hollywood's Golden Age. Lovers of classic B&W work might want to grab more than a few frames from the DVD.

Beery's work is quite good here, but Jackie Cooper's remarkable, potent chops steal the show - and your heart; though 'The Champ' has a good many fine, classical attributes there's none better in it than Cooper's unforgettable performance.

THE CHAMP feels like a quintessential Depression movie: it captures the poverty, pessimism, and sense of desperation so many experienced during that period. Beery and Cooper's father-son relationship is highly touching, and the latter's performance is one for the ages. Cooper's character is a child forced into an adult role due to his father's alcoholism and the hardboiled, macho attitudes of the men around him, yet he still possesses the naivete and steadfast optimism only children possess. It's a complex role for a kid to nail down, but Cooper hits every note perfectly.

THE CHAMP could have easily been a soppy mess, but the gritty aesthetic and underplaying of the actors keep it from such melodramatic excess.

Father/son movies were nothing new when November 1931's "The Champ" was released. But its ending is what struck movie audiences as unique, one of cinema's most potent tear jerkers ever projected on the screen. "The Champ is one of the greatest love stories ever put to film, the story of a man who wants to do right but fails and a son who never gives up on him," film reviewer Jerry Roberts writes. "(Wallace) Beery is what gives the film its foundation."

Beery performance was so powerful he won the 5th Academy Awards' Best Actor in a virtual tie with Frederic March for his role in 1931's "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." After receiving the statuette, Berry, in the middle of renegotiating his contract with MGM, demanded he be paid one dollar more than the studio's highest paid actor. The agreement made him the richest salaried Hollywood actor at that time. Francis Marion wrote "The Champ's" screenplay especially with Beery in mind. It proved to be a great inspiration since she won the Academy Award's Best Story for her work on bringing bucketful of tears to millions of viewers.

Her tale has Andy "Champ" Purcell (Beery), a former world heavyweight title holder, down on his luck and turns to drink and gambling. Through his divorce, Andy was able to keep his son, Dink (Jackie Cooper), until his mother Linda (Irene Rich), sees him at the racetrack with his father. Remarried into wealth, Linda gets the court to gain custody of Dink. In a classic highly emotional separation scene, Andy, in prison, says goodbye to his loyal son, only to have Dink jump off the train transporting him to his mother's home. He wants to see his father fight one more match facing off against the Mexican champion in what turns out to be a brutal match. A preview audience loved the movie, except for the ending. MGM's head of production, Irving Thalberg, had the match reshot, ending with one of the most emotional 18-handkerchief scenes in cinema.

Despite the warmth displayed on the screen between the two actors, Beery and Cooper did not get along. Beery hated childhood actors, and it was evident he didn't enjoy his time with the nine-year-old Jackie. Publicly, he diplomatically described Cooper as "a great kid," but the boy claimed the actor treated him like "an unkempt dog." In retrospect, Cooper said it was pure jealousy that made Beery, in scene after scene, try to upstage him. Beery was so fed up with the director calling for tight shots of Cooper's teary face, he demanded in his new MGM contract that no juvenile actor could ever have a close-up in any picture with him. Beery vowed he would never appear in another movie with Cooper again after "The Champ" wrapped. But so popular was the acting duo that he took back his promise in the mid-1930s, sharing screen time again with Cooper in three more films.

Besides Beery's tied win, the Academy nominated "The Champ" for Best Picture as well as its director, King Vidor for Best Director. Francis Marion's award-winning script was so brilliant Red Skelton adapted it into his 1952 film, "The Clown," where he plays the Andy character as a has-been clown rather than a boxer. Later generations are more familiar with director Franco Zeffirelli's 1979 version of "The Champ" with Jon Voight, Faye Dunaway and Ricky Schroder as the son. This film was actress Joan Blondell's last movie.

In the worst years of the depression, the most popular stars were not the most glamorous or attractive. As revealed in the highly respected Quigley poll (which surveyed movie theatre owners on who their audiences were most likely to come and see), the biggest draws in the early 30s were friendly, earthy types whom audiences could relate to at a time of poverty and desperation. These included genial comic Will Rogers, middle-aged frump Marie Dressler, and burly pug-face Wallace Beery, who played his greatest role in 1931 feature The Champ.

Beery's physique meant he was often cast as villainous thugs, but he had demonstrated enough acting prowess to get a decent number of "gentle giant" lead roles. In The Champ he gets to combine the two, one minute the swaggering pugilist, the next a devoted father. He gives a performance full of tiny gestures, expertly dancing from one expression to another. When he gets to show his character's emotional vulnerability, the scene is doubly poignant coming after the macho confidence he normally displays. The knowledge that off the set Beery was reputedly a wife-beating brute who bullied everyone around him perhaps spoils the effect slightly, but even with this in mind his performance is captivating, believable and utterly flawless.

Supporting Beery behind the camera is a director who was both a poet and a craftsman of the cinema – King Vidor. Vidor excelled at coaxing naturalism from his players at a time when theatrical hamming was the par. His camera focuses on Beery for long takes, allowing the actor to potter about doing his little bits of business and developing the character. Vidor also gives the picture bite with some neat tracking shots. These are usually in the field of depth, so in other words we are either backing away from the actors or following them. The former kind, with the players advancing on the camera as in the shot that opens the picture, gives the characters presence and show them as a force to be reckoned with. The latter kind, where the camera follows the character, physically pulls us into their world. Vidor used these kinds of shot a lot, and they are a neat way of making the audience feel involved without drawing too much attention to the artificiality of the form.

It may come as a surprise that this story of male bonding was written by a woman, Frances Marion. But like Beery, Marion defied expectations simply by being very good at what she did. Her plot for The Champ earned her the second of her two Oscars. It does not perhaps describe the most realistic of situations, but the emotional content is very sincere, and its depiction of determination and human feeling during hard times must have struck a chord with audiences of the day. The dialogue, which is credited to three separate people, is appropriately punchy with lines that sound believable yet are memorable and evocative.

Aside from Beery, the rest of the cast are a good bunch. Of all the lead players, Irene Rich is the only one who doesn't stand out, and she seems simply there to fill the wealthy, motherly type. But having said that she is not at all bad and her presence doesn't harm the picture. The Champ also sees Roscoe Ates in one of his largest roles, and for once getting to appear as a normal person rather than the stuttering fool he was usually required to play. Finally there is Jackie Cooper, one of the greatest child stars of his or indeed any era. While it seems clear that fame has gone to the youngster's head (he's not quite as good as he thinks he is), he is certainly up to the task of carrying his end of the picture. He plays a genuine child when with Beery, but when he is around others he deepens his voice and adopts mannerisms as if trying to be an adult. It's a touching and appropriate performance and very suited to the tone of the picture. And this was perhaps also the only time in which a child actor like Cooper could become a personality in his own right. As the popularity of Beery, Dressler et al proves, this was the age of the unconventional superstar.