Having watched Christy at its opening-night screening at the Austin Film Festival (with writer-directors David Michôd and Mirrah Foulkes in attendance, alongside the real-life Christy Martin), I walked away both exhilarated and deeply moved. The film stakes its claim not just as a sports biopic but as a profound meditation on identity, power, and survival.
From the first bell, the story pulls us into Martin’s world: rising from a small town in West Virginia to become the face of female boxing, mentored and managed by her coach-turned-husband, Jim (played with chilling precision by Ben Foster). But while the narrative starts in the ring, the real fight happens far from the cheering crowd—within a marriage and a perception of self that threaten to silence her. Sydney Sweeney’s performance as Christy is extraordinary: nearly unrecognizable in physique and temperament, she captures both the ferocity needed to succeed in a brutal sport and the quiet, heartbreaking vulnerability of someone discovering she must fight for more than just titles.
The film’s strength lies in its dual rhythm. The first act builds an electrifying rise: training montages, high-stakes matches, limelight, and glory. Yet, as the story develops, Michôd and Foulkes guide the film into darker territory of control, abuse, identity, and reclamation. Foster’s Jim is wickedly cruel—not just a one-note villain, but a layered depiction of manipulation, ambition, and violence that suffocates the very person he helped to raise. Meanwhile, Sweeney’s Christy realizes that the fight she thought she signed up for isn’t the only one she needs to win.
Technically, the film is bold: the boxing sequences are visceral and unflinching (Sweeney and her co-stars actually box each other, with no stunt doubles). The editing transitions to a memory-like style at times, and the score emphasizes the tension without ever becoming intrusive. Some might say the pacing feels uneven—especially when the film shifts from sport to trauma—yet for me, the change seemed intentional: a reflection of Christy’s own transformation from contender to survivor.
What resonated most, however, was the Q&A after the screening. Listening to Christy Martin talk about what it meant to see her story on screen—about showing up for herself and how the ring was only part of her journey—added a powerful layer of authenticity to the experience. And by chance, I had the opportunity to meet her afterward and briefly shake her hand. That small moment, captured in a quick photo, felt unexpectedly profound. Here was someone whose story had just unfolded before us—still strong, still fighting in her own way, and still inspiring others to do the same.
Overall, Christy is more than just a boxing film. It serves as a tribute to resilience and reclaiming oneself, driven by powerful performances and grounded in the real-life courage of its subject. Although it follows some familiar patterns of the biopic genre, it does so to tell a story that truly matters—one about fighting back when the opponent has no gloves and no rulebook. If opening night at AFF is any sign, this is the knockout of the season.