It's sometimes a mistake for me to try to assess the quality of a film right after I've seen it, when I am still under the spell of the immediate experience. I guess it's like one-night-stands (if memory serves) - they always seemed OK in the first few post-coital hours; it was only in the light of the following day (or week) that I'd say to myself, "What the hell was I thinking?" But back to the point . . . In what might be another general lapse of judgment on my part, I tend to over-value films about the early years of the 20th century, in particular the depression era, because of the experience of my parents (especially my father, who was born into a family that was dirt-road poor long before the depression made headlines of poverty). With all those caveats in place, I have to say that this film really worked for me. The period was done well; the sets and lighting were smoothly evocative; the music fit. Crowe, who I have come to like less on screen the more I see of him off-screen, convinced me utterly. Zellweger had less to do but did it with conviction and grace. Giammatti was schleppy and simply wonderful - the scene in the apartment, with his wife, was a gem. I don't know much about the real Braddock story. I assume the trajectory here was accurate, but regardless of how they might have fiddled with facts, I liked what they did with the story here. I knew how the big fight ended, of course, but that didn't prevent me from cringing and hiding my eyes during many of the boxing scenes. I know almost nothing about boxing, other than shaking Ken Norton's hand many years ago, and seeing Joe Louis when he was being paid to hang around the casino in Vegas, a walking shell, an aging half-legend. But this film worked for me. I think it worked for the sneak preview audience, as well. There seemed to be a good amount of attention, and tension, during the screening. And it was nice to read, in the closing notes, that Braddock used his winnings to buy a home that he and his family lived in for the rest of their lives. And that he went on to work in a trade, to be a piece of something that stands today (beyond print and celluloid - or do we have to say pixels now?) It's hopeful to think that 15 minutes of fame doesn't have to be a albatross.