Ben Eisenberg

Ben Eisenberg’s “Uppercut” (2025) isn’t your typical boxing flick; it’s way more raw, almost messy in the best way. At the center, you’ve got Jesse—he’s not some golden boy fighter, but a stubborn, half-broken ex-champ who’s been chewed up and spit out by the sport. He’s got debts piling up, his body’s a patchwork of old injuries, and honestly, his family barely speaks to him anymore. One night, after his latest loss, Jesse gets wind of an underground fight circuit—none of the glitz, all of the pain, and the money’s just dangerous enough to be tempting. He dives in, right? And the fights… they’re brutal. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. You see these other fighters, all ghosts of their former selves, clinging to something—pride, money, just the noise of it all. And Jesse’s not just fighting opponents; he’s grappling with everything he’s lost, from his reputation to his sanity. The cinematography? Gritty as hell. There’s sweat and blood and a kind of desperate hope that you can’t fake. But it’s not just about the violence. There’s this undercurrent of redemption—a shot at reconnecting with his daughter, maybe making peace with his ex, maybe even forgiving himself. The city feels like another character, all neon and rain-soaked concrete, both trapping him and pushing him forward. Eisenberg doesn’t hold your hand through it; you just feel every blow, every tiny, painful victory. By the credits, you’re left battered but weirdly hopeful, like maybe it’s not too late for any of us.