Let’s face it, “Cinderella” isn't the toughest analogy for someone who makes a living trying to pummel his opponent into unconsciousness, and the movie acknowledges it, but what would you choose for such a real-life fairy tale?

Bambi Man, the story of a man raised by his friends in the wild after his mother died? Sleeping Beauty Man, the tale of a boxer whose poisoned mouthpiece left him in a coma until just the right manager could revive him? Lady and the Tramp Man, featuring the touching scene where two boxers share a plate of spaghetti? Beauty and the Beast Man, the tragic tale of a boxer beaten so badly he looks like a monster, and the woman who loves him? Dumbo Man, the story of a boxer whose gloves are so big he can fly?

And really, he's just like Cinderella. I mean, assuming Cinderella had to spit bloody saliva into a bucket after getting her brain rattled by a shirtless guy in long trunks. Exactly the same.

So yeah, the story of a man coming out of nowhere to be the belle of the ring fits. We’ve got Ron and Russell (Crowe) and Rene (Zellweger) in Depression-era New Jersey, Russell on the outs as a championship fighter.

	You hear me? There is no truth to the rumor that I have an airbrushed license plate that says "Paul Loves Russell" on the front of my Trans Am.

With his family desolate, trying to keep the power on and the milkman paid, Russell takes advantage of another chance to fight by moving up the ranks of contenders, and doing so becomes the hero to an entire nation hungry for heroes and a diversion from their misfortunes. In other words, it's Seabiscuit in the ring, except without someone cleaning up poop from the corner of the ring.

Wait, Jim Braddock was white? A honky boxing champ? That’s crazy talk! Only in the movies, like Rocky and Raging Bull. Okay, so two of the three are true stories, but that's why there aren't any movies about modern contenders. A Mike Tyson biopic won't inspire many people, except to remind themselves why they stopped following boxing in the first place.

For our modern-day gladiators, the art of boxing is as much about pugilism as money, but the science is in the gamesmanship and showmanship of the boxers and managers. None can be as good as Paul Giamatti performs as Braddock’s longtime manager. He thinks that life is about keeping up appearances as much as boxing, but Braddock proves that appearances can be deceiving, and thus the gratifying comeback is born.

Unfortunately, Rene's the typical sports wife. A real downer, I mean, pessimistic, unsupportive until it counts. She plays it off, explaining, "Every time you get hit it feels like I get hit, and I'm not half as tough as you are." That’s not exactly true. She's never a shrinking violet. Rene's got sass. But if she wants a man who won’t live life to the fullest, Ron’s brother Clint makes his cameo as a referee, and not a world-class one.

You’d think Rene would be jumping up and down at the chance for Russell to jump back in the ring. The family goes from very high to very low, from a nice home with nice things to a one-bedroom "apartment" with few comforts and no work with three little kids to feed, from fights in Madison Square Garden to hole-in-the-wall gyms. It's true, too, that Braddock is a bum fighter, tired and hurt.

His heavyweight title fight against Max Baer (Craig Bierko - The Thirteenth Floor) is as tough as Rosie O’Donnell’s corns, and probably as smelly. After awhile Max is just a blur in the middle of his vision, like the drunk and sick Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday in Tombstone. Max is as big and powerful and arrogant and intimidating as the Russian in Rocky IV, and yes, there's the "He's not a machine, he's a man" moment but no "if I can change, you can change" speech, even if we can stipulate to it as Braddock is a champion of the masses.

A movie like this needs a good score, and Road to Perdition comes to mind in comparison, taking place in a similar era with Irish-American protagonists. Big shock – Thomas Newman composed both! Unfortunately for Cinderella Man, Perdition is better, making more memorable use of the music. The former is a score I listen to all the time; I doubt I’ll say the same for the latter.

Howard's movie doesn't even use the soundtrack that much, relying on the quiet of scenes. In fact, it's too quiet, since I couldn't crunch my nachos without drawing attention from fellow moviegoers. Okay, so that's a selfish reason, but it affects how I enjoy a film.

The only other negative in a very well-made film was the editing. I wasn’t a fan. There were some abrupt cuts, especially from loud to quiet scenes. A few times I had to step back and think, “wait, where are we?”

Otherwise, I'm in your hands, Ron, manipulate me! Oh, sure, you can feel his hands on the dramatic scenes, but is that so wrong? Didn't you love Apollo 13? Okay then, stop complaining.

Will Howard get an Oscar nom for Best Director? Probably not. It’s June, and he doesn’t get much respect from The Man. But Crowe is always great, and always deserves a nomination.

Actually, there was a lot of method acting involved, since Rene looks like a kernel of corn would make her look bloated, and Russell has a proud history of beating up anyone who dares to look at him.

Jeff’s Rule No. 1 regarding history-based films: Did it get me to research the subject more? Check. Furthermore, was I rooting for the main character? Without a doubt. Did I get chills during the climax? A little bit.

Would I recommend Cinderella Man? Certainly. A fairy tale works no matter what age you are.