Champions

Offers a formula-driven tale of down-and-outers-done-good with a gooey heart in the middle.

Bobby Farrelly balanced out the sentimentalism with a sassy ensemble, led by Woody Harrelson’s reliably spiky energy.

There’s a self-righteousness to Champions that feels entirely unearned.

The film fights hard to draw humour from the players’ often eccentric demeanours without holding them up to ridicule. For the most part it succeeds.

What makes Champions a treat is the deftness with which Mark Rizzo’s script sidesteps sentimentality in favour of something more raucously truthful...

Champions has its heart in the right place... It’s possible to admire the message, though, without thinking much of a movie that, Marcus’ aspirations notwithstanding, belongs in the minor leagues.

One of the most derivative, play-it-safe movies I’ve maybe ever seen.

Champions manages to last for more than two hours without ever even stumbling into a visually interesting composition.

Fans of the genre will probably enjoy this, but if you're looking for something new, you'd be better off looking elsewhere.

For anyone looking for something subtle or nuanced, look elsewhere, it’s still a Farrelly film. However, Champions takes a small story, in a small world and leans into the heart.