Real Steel aims to be an inspiring, feel-good family drama about an estranged father and son learning to appreciate one another. That's not what I expected, considering that the setting of competitive robotic boxing is inspired by a short story by horror/sci-fi writer Richard Matheson (best known for dystopian novel I Am Legend). Early promos called it "a gritty, white-knuckle film" about a shattered former boxer adapting to a new world where robots have made human fighters obsolete.
I saw potential for Children of Men or Minority Report crossed with Raging Bull. What I got was a kiddie-sized Rocky with Jake Lloyd's annoying Anakin Skywalker playing Mickey to a forgettable robot that looks like a dude in a fencing mask.
The film is set in the late 2020s when robot boxing has become a major sport fought in both giant arenas and small, seedy clubs. Ex-boxer Charlie Kenton (Hugh Jackman) is a self-obsessed, cocky loser. The change in the sport has relegated Charlie to being a low-end promoter of robot boxers. He's hit rock bottom, so he'll take any match he can for his rickety old bot—including fighting bulls at rodeos. And then he finds out he has been given custody of his super annoying 11-year-old son Max (Dakota Goyo)—and neither wants anything to do with the other. But when forced to spend time together, they reluctantly partner to train an old sparring bot found in a junkyard. Can this old piece of junk—built to take punches but not deliver them—become a Cinderella? And can Max and Charlie learn to love each other?
Hugh Jackman as Charlie Kenton
My biggest problem with Real Steel is that it's just not very real. Just as machines have replaced flesh-and-blood boxers, so the film substitutes robotic plotting and heavy-handed manipulation for real emotion. In fact, Real Steel's filmmakers seems to think its audience is comprised of robots: objects programmed to respond in a certain way if given the right cue. It's pandering and insulting. How do you know when to cry? The film pushes a button and clearly tells you. You know there is something "special" about the junkyard bot because every interaction with him is accompanied by stirring violins. How do you know who the bad guys are? They have anarchist tattoos or are blatantly racist or have over-the-top foreign accents, like villains from Rocky and Bullwinkle. ("We vill get you, moose and robot!") The filmmakers milks any chance they have to yank on emotional strings.
Very little about Real Steel feels authentic. Nearly every supporting character is a vague character-type ridiculously amped up to 11. Character motivations and reactions feel awkwardly contrived. I was frequently baffled why a certain character would do what they do. Maybe the most blatant example is the side plot between Charlie and love interest Bailey (Lost's Evangeline Lilly, in a role that sadly only asks her to sit around wearing tank tops and short shorts). The film does very little with their coupling—only suggesting a past fling and present business partnership—until Charlie randomly climbs into her bed as she's sleeping. It is such an odd, unprompted moment that I thought Bailey may call the cops. Instead, she only smiles and returns to sleep.
Even the plot's unfolding feels forced. Exposition doesn't come in trickles but in torrents. In one scene, reporters ask ridiculously long questions to douse the audience in years of back story—a scene that even includes the bad screenwriter's best friend, the phrase "Wait, are you saying …?"
Evangeline Lilly as Bailey Tallet
Among this mess of conflicting tones and genres is director Shawn Levy's (Date Night, Night at the Museum) view of the future. I both admire and was confused by his approach. Looking forward about 17 years, Real Steel pictures a time not much changed from our own. People wear 1981 Van Halen shirts, drive old pickups and live in houses just like today. There are still county fairs and cell phones. I like that the film pictures the near future but refuses to over-exaggerate how different it will be (Back to the Future II, anyone?). There are no weird plastic outfits or hover cars.
Dakota Goyo as Max Kenton
There's really only one difference between the world of 2029 and today: Giant robots boxing each other. This substantial advance in technology affected no other realm of life? I would have expected to see this type of tech integrated into daily life. For instance, we see Charlie pumping gas; if giant robots can pummel each other, can't they pump our gas too? Or complete other menial tasks? A robot built in 2014 has an archaic controller that looks like you should play "Oregon Trail" on it. And cell phones and laptops in 2029 will be exactly the same shape and size as today … but just clear?
The technology here also blurs the lines between human and robot. The bots are repeatedly said to "die," get tired, have emotions, etc. I couldn't tell if this was sloppy writing or commentary on how we view/treat machines and/or athletes. But there is little difference at times between Atom—Charlie and Max's robot—and a human boxer. Charlie yells at him like Mickey to Rocky: "Move! Get out of there! Jab!" They work out with him and teach him moves. It's less programming and more athletic training.
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The movie could have easily been set in 2011 and focus on real boxing because frankly, the movie is not about the robots or the boxing. Unfortunately, it's about Max—and one of my family-movie pet peeves: Adults acting like children and the kids teaching them all the lessons. The true adult here is the 11-year-old Max. Every good idea comes from Max. All the lessons are taught by Max, who constantly shows Charlie the error of his ways and illuminates the right way. Even in the end, it is Max who is happy to see his Dad find himself and re-discover joy. What message does this send to kids about their parents—or any adult?
Atom, their fighting robot
Some audiences will enjoy the film for what it is; they will bob and weave with fun robot fight scenes. They will laugh and maybe tear up. They may walk out and say, "Well, that was cute." They may even appreciate the themes of our innate need to feel worthy of someone fighting for us, or the joy of seeing someone else achieve. But I found little here that is truly inspiring or that's more than surface-deep.
Talk About It
Discussion starters
A character tells Charlie, "You've been working with these robots so long you've become one." What does that mean to you? What does it mean to act like a robot? Can being around technology too much change you? How has it happened to you or someone you know?
Very little time is spent on the death of Max's mom. How do you think he was feeling? How do you see that in the movie? How could Charlie or others have helped him more deal with this loss?
How does the movie make Charlie look as a dad? Max often teaches his Dad lessons, corrects him and inspires him. How does that make you feel? Is that the normal role kids play for their parents?
Max says to his dad, "I want you to fight for me." What does that mean? Do you want your parents to "fight for you"? Why or why not?
The Family Corner
For parents to consider
Real Steel is rated PG-13 for some violence, intense action and brief language. Most of the violence is robot on robot fighting which is little more than a demolition derby with arms. An 11-year-old and his dad are attacked by thugs and beat up. A bad guy uses demeaning racial language. There are several uses of profanity (no f-words). Several come from the mouth of an 11-year-old. While there is no sexual content beyond kissing, a man is seen climbing into bed with a sleeping woman.
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