Isn't "The Great Depression" the ultimate oxymoron?: "Cinderella Man"

While I've never forgiven Russell Crowe for stealing Meg Ryan and wronging my man Dennis Quaid -- then again, after seeing Meg in "In the Cut," Dennis isn't so bad off -- the missus wanted to see "Cinderella Man" on opening weekend. I could have taken or left it -- not because of the above, but mainly because it sounded a bit schmaltzy. Hey, I was wrong: It was a lot schmaltzy.

That's not to say it was no good. The story is solid: James J. Braddock is a rising young fighter when the Depression hits, and he's reduced to begging for work on the docks and trying to keep his family (wife, three cute kids) together as the bills pile up. Eventually he gets a second chance in the ring and goes on the become the heavyweight champ, inspiring people across the country. True story ... great story. And with Crowe as Braddock, what's not to love?

Crowe is good, especially when his life is ... wait for it ... on the ropes. After only a brief set-up of Braddock's promise, we spend the whole first half of the movie seeing him and his family fall deeper and deeper into despair. It's the feel-good hit of the summer!

Oh, wait ... that came in the second half, and Crowe handles Braddock's boxing rebirth well, too. Right there with him is Paul Giamatti as manager Joe Gould. Paul G. is about the gold standard these days; he carried "Planet of the Apes," baby! Renee Zellweger ("Empire Records") is decent as Mrs. Braddock, although the "don't get killed" jazz as her man gets set to tackle the dominating Max Baer didn't show us anything more than Adrian in "Rocky III." (All together now: "YOU CAN'T WIN!!!")

As for capturing the '30s, director Ron Howard ("Grand Theft Auto") does all right, especially considering this was shot in and around Toronto. C'mon, Ronny ... buy American! The clothes look appropriately ragamuffinish on the downtrodden and fancy-schmancy on the well-to-do. The fight scenes work pretty well, with less of the Apollo Creedesque tiptoeing around the ring and more of two guys stalking each other, flailing away and just going toe-to-toe and whaling on each other. Messy, confusing ... pretty much the way fights should be.

In the end, though, it's Crowe's show, and he nails it. Howard lays it on thick with the tearjerking and heartstring-pulling, but Crowe for the most part rises above it and makes for a convincing Braddock, even if he's too old for the part; Braddock was 30 when he won the title, while Crowe is 41. Still, you have to give the guy credit ... for this and for dumping Ryan when he realized her "Innerspace" days are long gone.