Big George Foreman

Most of us know George Foreman as the jovial, balding giant selling us fat-reducing grills on late-night infomercials, a man whose smile seems wide enough to swallow a boxing ring. But there was a time in the 1970s when George was the most terrifying human being on the planet—a brooding, silent wrecking ball who dismantled Joe Frazier like he was taking out the trash. George Tillman Jr.’s Big George Foreman tries to bridge the gap between those two men, and while it often feels like it’s checking boxes on a Sunday school syllabus, it poses a fascinating question: can a person actually kill their own ego, or does it just go into hibernation?

I watched this during a weekend where the air conditioning in my apartment decided to give up the ghost, leaving me sweating on the sofa like I’d just gone twelve rounds with a heavy bag. In a weird way, the heat helped. This is a film that reeks of the humid, oppressive poverty of Fifth Ward Houston, and it works best when it focuses on the internal pressure cooker of a young man who has nothing but his fists and a bottomless well of resentment.

The Heavyweight Identity Crisis

The film rests entirely on the shoulders of Khris Davis, who has the impossible task of playing George from a malnourished teenager to a 45-year-old champion. Davis (who appeared in Judas and the Black Messiah) does something subtle and smart here; he doesn't just change his body, he changes his eyes. In the first half, he captures that specific, terrifying " Foreman stare"—a look that suggests he’s not just looking at his opponent, but through them to the person who insulted him in second grade.

Forest Whitaker shows up as Doc Broadus, the mentor who discovers George in a Job Corps camp. Whitaker, a man who can do "quiet dignity" better than almost anyone since he won his Oscar for The Last King of Scotland, provides the necessary friction. He isn't just a trainer; he’s the guy trying to teach a hurricane how to be a gentle breeze. Their chemistry keeps the movie grounded when the script starts to feel a bit like a Greatest Hits compilation of 20th-century boxing history.

However, we have to talk about the Ali in the room. Sullivan Jones plays Muhammad Ali, and while he’s a fine actor, playing Ali is the ultimate trap for any performer. Jones does a decent impression, but compared to the real footage of the "Rumble in the Jungle," he feels like a high-end cover band. It’s a perennial problem with biopics from this current era: we have so much 4K footage of the real people on YouTube that any dramatization feels like a wax museum come to life.

A Sucker Punch of Faith

What separates Big George Foreman from something like Rocky or Creed is the mid-movie pivot. After a near-death experience in a locker room (depicted here with some hallucinatory intensity), George stops boxing entirely. He becomes a preacher. He stops being the "bad man" and starts being the "big man."

This is where the film gets cerebral. It grapples with the idea of a "second act" in American life. Is George’s sudden shift to pacifism a genuine spiritual rebirth or a psychological defense mechanism against the trauma of losing his title? The movie leans heavily into the former—it was produced by Affirm Films, the faith-based arm of Sony—but I found myself fascinated by the conflict of a man who defines himself by violence suddenly trying to define himself by grace.

The most interesting scenes aren't in the ring; they’re in the community center George builds. Watching a former heavyweight champion try to explain the Gospel to a group of bored kids while his bank account drains to zero is more compelling than any montage. It suggests that the hardest fight George ever had wasn't against Ali, but against his own pride.

The Ghost of the Box Office

In the current landscape of cinema, Big George Foreman is a bit of an anomaly. It’s a mid-budget, earnest, traditional biopic that was released into theaters only to vanish almost instantly. With a $32 million budget and a $3.8 million opening, it was a financial disaster of historic proportions. Why? Probably because it lacks the "event" feel of modern franchise filmmaking and the gritty edge of a streaming-service prestige drama.

It feels like a movie from 2004 that accidentally slipped through a time portal into 2023. It’s sentimental, it’s brightly lit, and it wants you to leave the theater feeling better about humanity. In an era of cynical deconstructions, that sincerity feels almost radical, even if it occasionally feels as subtle as a blow to the solar plexus.

The cinematography by David Tattersall (who shot the Star Wars prequels) is clean and professional, but it lacks the grime you’d expect from a story about a man who literally fought his way out of the dirt. Everything looks a bit too polished, a bit too "movie-ish." It’s the paradox of the modern biopic: the higher the resolution, the harder it is to believe in the reality of the past.

Ultimately, I enjoyed Big George Foreman more than I expected to, mostly because George Foreman’s actual life is so absurdly cinematic that you’d have to try very hard to make it boring. It’s a story about a man who realized that his anger made him a champion but also made him miserable. While the film doesn't always go as deep into the psychological weeds as I’d like, it remains a sturdy, heartfelt look at a legendary figure. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a heavy meal—a bit overstuffed and predictable, but it definitely sticks to your ribs. If you’re looking for a story about how to fail upward with dignity, you could do a lot worse.

Review by Popcornizer Staff