If acting were a branch of strength training then Orlando Bloom delivers a knockout performance in Sean Willis\u2019s drama, The Cut. Playing a retired boxer given one more shot at the title, Bloom\u2019s character undergoes a regime of workouts, diuretics and illegal drugs which leave him so weak that by the end of it he can barely stand on a set of scales to be weighed. You remember the training montage in the Rocky films where Rocky Balboa punches a beef carcass? Here, that\u2019s the whole movie, only without Bill Conti\u2019s inspirational score. The training is actually more brutal than the boxing. <\/p>\n
The film begins formulaically enough: a decade ago Bloom\u2019s boxer was forced from a championship bout when his eye opened up \u201clike a Christmas present\u201d in the sixth round. Now he mops the lavatories of the gym he co-owns with his partner, Caitlin (Caitr\u00edona Balfe) \u2014 eyes cast to the floor, a man cut off from the world by the weight of shame pressing down on him. <\/p>\n
One day a flashy Don King-like promoter comes in with an offer. \u201cPeople love a comeback story, always have,\u201d he purrs and so it\u2019s off to Las Vegas for one more shot at the title provided Bloom can \u201cmake weight\u201d and drop from 13st 2lb to 11st in a week with the help of a sadistic trainer named Boz (John Turturro). <\/p>\n
So far, so familiar: a boxer down on his luck is given one more shot at the title. Pass the bucket and sponge, please. But actually this is an original take. Where Willis\u2019s film scores points is the relentlessness of its focus on the training inside Boz\u2019s \u201call-inclusive torture factory\u201d \u2014 including fully clothed saunas followed by scrape-downs of every last bead of sweat using credit cards or hairdryers, drugs that \u201ccook your organs\u201d and even an IV. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll spit your goddam soul out if you have to,\u201d growls Turturro, who was clearly attracted to the role by the series of my-way-or-the-highway apophthegms his character gets to snarl (\u201cThere\u2019s no rip cord on this ride\u201d, \u201cYou\u2019re nothing but a poker chip to me\u201d) although it would be all the more impressive if the script didn\u2019t sound make it all sound like the morning routine of the Tate brothers. <\/p>\n
The prep for the film was almost as bad as that onscreen: Bloom lost 3st 7lb subsisting on tuna and cucumber, dealing with calorie deprivation, dehydration and insomnia before spiraling into anxiety and obsession. \u201cI was a horrible person to be around,\u201d Bloom says. He\u2019s not that much nicer onscreen \u2014 gaunt and cussed, even in the film\u2019s early stages, so void of lightness or humour that it\u2019s hard to see how he maintained a relationship with Caitlin, a horribly underwritten part that consists mainly of Balfe looking extremely upset at the torture she sees her man inflicting on himself. <\/p>\n
\u2022 The best films of 2025 so far<\/a><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re girl loves you so she\u2019s only going to hurt you,\u201d Boz says and so Caitlin, too, is forced to peel off as Bloom\u2019s boxer sheds all human attachment and the film turns into an arid examination of the soullessness required to be a winner. Or is it the film that is soulless? It\u2019s hard to say. <\/p>\n Ever since Robert De Niro increased his weight from 10st to 15st to play Jake La Motta in Raging Bull, we have learnt to measure screen performances on a set of scales: the 3st 7lb Joaquin Phoenix lost for Joker, the 4st 2lb Chris Pratt lost for Guardians of the Galaxy, the 4st 5lb Christian Bale lost for The Machinist. But close your eyes and try to imagine an actor other than Bloom in the role and you realise how much these turns rely not on transformation but on the recognisability of the actor under all that blubber or inside that wiry frame. The poster might as well read \u201ccome see Orlando Bloom get put through the wringer\u201d. It\u2019s awesome on some level but it\u2019s not much else. Ethan Coen is back. After a creative parting of ways with his brother, Joel, who went off to make a beautiful but empty version of Macbeth, Ethan teamed up with his wife, Tricia Cooke, to make Drive-Away Dolls, a lesbians-on-the run caper starring Margaret Qualley that was as light and fun as a helium balloon. Now Coen has reunited with Cooke and Qualley again to write and direct Honey Don\u2019t!, a comic neo-noir also about lesbians. This time its star is a lesbian private eye, Honey (Qualley), who has an impressive collection of dildos at her home in arid Bakersfield, California. She\u2019s a private dick in every sense. <\/p>\n \u2022 Read more film reviews, guides about what to watch and interviews<\/a><\/p>\n Rocking a series of pretty dot-patterned dresses and high heels Qualley has as much fun with the role \u2014 hard-boiled, downbeat, deadpan \u2014 as she did with her fast-talking Jamie in Drive-Away Dolls, although Coen\u2019s script doesn\u2019t give her nearly as much to work with. A slender piping of plot involving a corrupt evangelist (Chris Evans) \u2014 yawn \u2014 is the least of the film\u2019s debts to the exploitation flicks of early Eighties when all crimes were capers, all lesbians were lusty and the blood spattered like ketchup. Coen has gone back to his happy place but this time he\u2019s not taken the audience with him. Two-for-one cinema tickets at Everyman<\/p>\n Times+ members can enjoy two-for-one cinema tickets at Everyman each Wednesday. Visit thetimes.com\/timesplus<\/a> to find out more<\/p>\n Which films have you enjoyed at the cinema recently? Let us know in the comments below and follow @timesculture<\/a> to read the latest reviews<\/p>\n
\u2605\u2605\u2605\u2606\u2606
15, 99min<\/p>\n
\u2605\u2605\u2606\u2606\u2606
15, 89min<\/p>\n