(Here’s the first in an occasional series of entries where I’ll take a closer look at two movies and pseudointellectualize and come up with some half-interesting synthesis. The French title speaks to the pretentiousness of the exercise. If you’re put off by the phrase, next time you’re at a party find a plate of hors d’oeuvres and fucking choke on them.)

Raging Bull would be a naturally fruitful choice for an examination like this. There are comparisons (uh, boxing movies, ones that address the beginning and aftermath of a career, a narrative that focuses along the way on a brotherly relationship) and lots of contrasts (black and white vs. color, high stylization/slow motion/camera trickery vs. a muted approach, one star vs. two virtual co-stars). Thing is, I haven’t taken the time to watch Raging Bull recently, whereas I saw The King’s Speech the day after The Fighter, so the similarities and differences were fresh, perhaps even more oddly conspicuous given the change in subject, time period, etc.

Let’s begin at the end (with plenty of spoilers): The two stories conclude with moments of triumph, Micky winning the championship and Bertie having given a successful, seminal speech. But going further, each film is tagged with a heartfelt reminder that the stories would not have ended so well for either without a great deal of help. The documentary in The Fighter ends at the beginning, with the two brothers talking, Dickie especially talking up his brother, in fact and eventually giving him the frame all to himself. It’s clear that he’s damn proud of Micky, but also damn proud of himself for having contributed to the achievement. Here the combined joy is doubled, not halved. As the credits roll we see the two men in real life, and we’re reminded that this story took place nearly twenty years ago, but they’re still as they’ve always been. In The King’s Speech, we read that Bertie and Lionel remained good friends throughout their lives. Again, the movie ends in a suitable place but the friendship goes on.

Think also of the importance of the women in these men’s lives. Micky’s mother was his manager, the nurturing having been taken to a professional level. Bertie’s wife did the legwork in finding the speech therapist that would help him overcome. The training of each is done by men, the motivation being drawn out through either conflicts of personality, slight threats of emasculation, or a certain physicality. But the arrangements (“playdates,” to stretch things too far) are handled by the overarching wisdom of a sympathetic female overseer.

I also see a good deal of desire to live vicariously through another. It’s all over The Fighter, Dickie still a touch too proud of having knocked down Sugar Ray Leonard (incidentally, the opposite of “You never got me down, Ray.”) all those years previous and in my opinion he’s quite willing to see his brother relive and surpass his success, as long as Dickie himself is a part of it. And it’s in The King’s Speech, too: Lionel is a former actor, once having well played a part he can no longer quite pull off. He’s still a performer, doing so for his children, instilling in them simultaneously an affinity for the medium. But I see Lionel’s happiness in Bertie’s enviable elocution. There’s a great deal of importance in what Bertie finally has to say, and his saying it well is clearly to Lionel’s credit. Each of these stories is told with these influences in mind and framed accordingly.

One Raging Bull comment might tie this off well: Maybe it was the greatest part of Jake LaMotta’s tragedy that his success also brought alienation from the people he was closest to. Maybe it was the greatest part of Micky’s and Bertie’s successes that their accomplishments weren’t theirs alone.