Champions

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.

Overall, Champions is endearing at times with some slow moments, but it’s a good movie if you’re a fan of the genre.

Predictability aside, everything about this movie makes it a feel-good winner except for the runtime and that really did impact the enjoyment.

I truly don’t think it’s Farrelly’s intention to offend. I think he genuinely wants to undercut the notion that those suffering from this condition are capable of experiencing a life as full as those who are not similarly afflicted.

[It's] too foulmouthed for family viewing, too saccharine for the Farrellys’ usual fan base, and too shallow to let the measured relationship between Harrelson and team chauffeur Kaitlin Olson take center stage.

Woody Harrelson leads scene-stealing ensemble in wry, winning comedy.