By Cheryl Eddy

THE DIRECTING CAREER of Ron Howard is in no danger whatsoever of withering up, or even taking a hiatus (four words: The Da Vinci Code). The man's an icon – he's Opie, he's Richie Cunningham, he's the narrator on Arrested Development – plus he's helmed an array of films one could conceivably label "beloved" (Splash, Parenthood, Cocoon, and Apollo 13 among them). He's enjoyed mad box office success over the years; even the ghoulish How the Grinch Stole Christmas easily outgrossed every other film released in 2000. As Howard's become more of a directing powerhouse, he's drifted toward a semi-Spielbergian formula of A-list stars and stories that emphasize some sort of uplifting resolution. Clearly, that's what works for him. His trophy haul for A Beautiful Mind proves as much. It's telling that his 2003 film, The Missing – a dark Western in the vein of The Searchers, both a stylistic and thematic departure – was largely ignored and quickly forgotten.

Production on Howard's latest, Cinderella Man, was already under way when Million Dollar Baby K.O.'d the competition at the Oscars. Though the two films are quite different, their shared boxing themes are bound to draw comparisons – even if Cinderella Man actually has more in common with Seabiscuit than with any other recent movie. Based on the real-life rise, fall, and rise again of Depression-era heavyweight Jim Braddock (Russell Crowe), Cinderella Man aims to show how Braddock became a hard-times hero to a nation that was really, really holdin' out for one. It also works rather hard to keep Braddock's family – wife Mae (a bland Renée Zellweger) and three saucer-eyed kiddies – a relevant part of the story. Peripheral figures include Braddock's manager, Joe (Paul Giamatti), volatile buddy Mike (Paddy Considine), and various boxing rivals, most notably Max Baer (Craig Bierko).

Early on, we taste Braddock's initial success. In 1928 he's cha-chinging with every Madison Square Garden victory and coming home to the loving arms of Mae, who supports him though she won't attend his fights ("It feels like I'm gettin' hit too"). In the interest of cramming in as many heart-warming scenes as possible, Cinderella Man then zooms ahead in the first of several chronological fast-forwards. It's 1933, and life sucks. The family, now poverty-stricken, is stuffed into a tiny tenement, and Braddock – who must compete with crowds of other starving men for work at the local docks – has his boxing license revoked after fighting with a broken hand and being dubbed "an embarrassment" by promoters, who declare he's no longer an audience draw.

Since this is a movie about a comeback, Cinderella Man – shot in sepia-toned Depression-o-vision – spends plenty of time scraping alongside the Braddocks while they endure rock bottom (cue the sick children, etc.). When Braddock finally gets a second chance, his fights aren't especially thrilling, and his opponents are so unmemorable that some bouts are edited to melt into each other. The only adversary with any flair is Baer, who's presented as a swaggering asshole who travels with a P. Diddy-size entourage. Notorious for killing two competitors in the ring, he's also rude to Mae and given to statements like "I really don't want to hurt you, but people die in fairy tales all the time."

Ah, but does an underdog ever shy away from a final confrontation? Would Seabiscuit have refused to race War Admiral? Nay. As the big bout approaches, the angle of Braddock as "an inspiration" to downtrodden Americans is suddenly tossed into the mix – though Howard has previously been so interested in Braddock's personal struggles that there's little room to expound on the man's far-reaching or historical significance. At least Seabiscuit explored a range of characters affected by the titular horse; here, someone randomly reads aloud a newspaper editorial dubbing Braddock the "Cinderella Man" on the eve of his Baer fight. Did screenwriters Cliff Hollingsworth and Akiva Goldsman (the master of unsubtlety who also penned A Beautiful Mind) realize they needed to jam in a little more context, lest their script just be about a really nice guy who managed to become a champion again after a couple of rough years? (And that's another thing – what's the point of making a boxing movie about a winner? Rocky, Raging Bull, and even Million Dollar Baby prove that a loser makes for infinitely more fascinating narrative fodder.)

Fortunately, you can always count on Crowe to bring it, even if he's stuck in a movie that practically chokes on Howard's "quality" control. The only reason to bother with Cinderella Man is to see Crowe in action, as convincing when he's lecturing a young child about shoplifting as he is turning an opponent's face into raw hamburger. It's a cliché to call the guy a contender, but that's what he is.

'Cinderella Man' opens Fri/3 at Bay Area theaters. See Movie Clock for show times.