I'm sure it is not lost on Will Smith that after writing "met Ali, he told me I'm The Greatest" in his 1997 party anthem "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It" he now finds himself cast as none other than the Champ himself in director Michael Mann's overlong biopic of Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali.
It is unclear after "Heat", "The Insider" and now "Ali" if Mr. Mann is even capable of making a film under three hours. Like those previous works, there are scenes here that could have been trimmed. But with "Ali", Mr. Mann feels less self-conscious in his direction, less intrusive. He films most scenes with a shaky handheld camera, rather than the overly composed art-shots of "Heat". At times, as he follows Ali's conversion to the Muslim faith and the assassination of friend Malcolm X, he seems to cross over into the pseudo-documentary style of Oliver Stone's conspiracy opus "JFK". Indeed, he also channels Mr. Stone in boxing scenes, which mean to do for pugilism what "Any Given Sunday" tried to do for football.
In these, naturally the most exciting moments of the film, Mr. Mann creates an almost operatic interplay between fighters. He gets into the mind of the Champ through extreme close-ups and slow motion. Though we never get a good sense of where Ali came from (the film only spans the ten years between his first title victory and then his return to the top after having the title stripped from him for avoiding the draft), these scenes at least provide a glimpse of why some call him the greatest boxer who ever lived.
The performances across the board are superb. Jon Voight (an overly sympathetic, but effective Howard Cosell), Mario Van Peebles (equally effective as Malcolm X), Ron Silver (nicely understated as trainer Angelo Dundee) and Jamie Foxx (sincere in a role that could have been comic relief as Drew 'Bundini' Brown) all disappear into their respective roles. But it is Mr. Smith's confident, physically dynamic performance as the title character that keeps the meandering film afloat. Whether he is training at the gym, taking on Joe Frazier, or having a chat with pal Malcolm X, Mr. Smith seems to channel the Champ from the inside-out. His walk, vocal cadence and lighter-than-air footwork in the ring all come through in Mr. Smith's thorough, thoughtful embodiment of the character and, indeed, the person. He proves himself here to be a contender for a different title: Best Actor.
