This is a role Christian Bale has probably been looking for—a washed out, basehead boxer training his younger brother (Mark Wahlberg) for the shot he never ascertained. Some say this movie is based on the true story of Dick Eklund and Mickey Ward; others say it’s the screen version of the 1986 re-release of Nintendo’s PUNCHOUT! (following Mike Tyson’s arrest). The parallels are apparent, anyway.

A little history—Aronofsky (Pi, Requiem For a Dream, The Wrestler) was set (or asked) to direct, but possibly his ballet movie required more time. David O. Russell (I Heart Huckabees) stepped in to direct the film, Aronofsky style—plenty of shots of television screens; dark visual representations of grief, guilt and torment; character-centered, foulmouthed melodrama; the pangs and highs of drug addiction and withdrawal . . . is it clear? So we can call this movie an Aronofsky in type and treatment. But you may remember Russell from his abusive treatment of George Clooney and Lily Tomlin. Some say he did it all for the shot. Others (on IMDB) want him behind bars. But he brought forth a fine film, so let’s let him run the streets for a while longer.

The Fighter is Mickey Ward’s struggle to become an independent man amid the tyrannical influence of his mother (Melissa Leo) and the unstable, destructive instruction he receives from his brother Dicky, who knocked down Sugar Ray Leonard, as he reminds Leonard and us throughout the film. Bale has become someone else entirely, the opposite of Bruce Wayne or Paul Allen/Patrick Bateman. The result is some mix of Dr. Thompson, Panic in Needle Park Pacino, and yes, Jake La Motta (or at least De Niro). But don’t misunderstand. This film is sweeps and swipes from Raging Bull, which strengthens The Fighter, though the On The Waterfront style ending soliloquy still persists. Also, Budweisers and lit cigarettes rife in both films.

Solid script, fine acting (even from Marky Mark), and of course a good balance of violence and shouting matches, the blood and blows placed mostly near the end in a deft move by film editor Pamela Martin. The film’s only admittedly lackluster quality comes from the cinematography department (Hoyte Van Hoytema), which strands itself in the static frame which fails to serve some of the fast paced dialogue. But the characters’ accents and dialects are the highlight of the film. These are New England scumbags with no money and much to prove to one another and themselves. Plus the movie contains a natural, twisted humor, like Bale jumping from a second-story window onto a pile of trash to avoid his mother (twice).

Finally, Hollywood is reverting back to some of its hey-day conventions. The Fighter is a ’70s film set in the ’80s and shot in 2010. The maladjusted, disenfranchised badass has returned without the unfortunate stigma of the action film. A glimmer of light on Sunset Boulevard?

So the story goes: Mickey tries to relinquish his tumultuous professional partnership with his family, partly due to their dysfunction and partly due to the coaxing of his new bartender girlfriend (Amy Adams). Ward is beaten mercilessly by Piston Honda’s stand-in, Sanchez. His will is broken, but he finally returns to the ring to fight off Bald Bull, Sodapopinski, Great Tiger and finally, Mr. Dream himself, Shay Neary. Meanwhile, Dicky is incarcerated for both impersonating and assaulting an officer while playing the pimp role to pay off his brother and convince him to continue training. The brothers’ reunion and subsequent sparring match are high tension. Good stuff for movies.

Overall, this film isn’t so much a kickoff for director Russell, but a reminder of how versatile, dedicated and compelling an actor Christian Bale is.