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Usually I have about as much interest in the Academy Awards as I do in the battle for the Canadian Football League's Grey Cup. This year was different, and not because of the notoriously potty-mouthed host's potential (and in some demographics, eagerly anticipated) dropping of the "F-bomb".

By happenstance, I had seen three of the five nominated movies, those being Ray, Million Dollar Baby, and The Aviator, and was grudgingly curious to learn which film would win the gold statue.

The two I thought merited the top honor were denied as the film that reigned supreme that evening was the one that in my humble opinion got a boost from its stealth socially liberal signals. I had correctly speculated the Oscar outcome immediately upon walking out of the theater that screened Million Dollar Baby, and my prediction had little to do with the movie's quality.

Clint Eastwood's mysteriously titled "triumph" had me wondering what the movie was about as the pre-Oscar buzz intensified. Before seeing a preview on Baby, I had assumed that it was about a kidnapping ransom. When I finally watched its teaser, I divined it was a take on women's boxing in the mold of 1977 Oscar winner Rocky. Upon watching the movie, I would learn its true story (cloaked in the previews) about halfway through the film.

Now at this point I should warn my readers that if you wish to view Million Dollar Baby without having the ending given away to peruse this column no further. But to those individuals sensitive to the sanctity of life, you might as well keep reading so I can save you 7 bucks and a feeling of disappointment.

The first part of Million Dollar Baby focuses on a scrappy woman boxer in training played by Hillary Swank. The now two-time Oscar winner and bete noire of Annette Benning's Academy ambitions does a marvelous job portraying a woman seeking to escape her "trailer trash" roots through boxing while sporting an irresistible smile.

The magnetism of her character is so great that it would be easier to cheer against US Steel than to not root for "Maggie Fitzgerald". Training the endearing pugilist is Morgan Freeman, who portrays a more polished version of the Burgess Meredith character from the Sly Stallone series and Maggie's Gaelic obsessed manager "Frankie", played by Eastwood.

Initially, Eastwood's character is reluctant to handle Maggie, one first infers because of misogynistic pride but later learns that it is rooted in some unexplained yet easily speculated transgression with his estranged daughter. In fact the one consistent element of the movie is Frankie's wrestling with an inner demon that compels him to attend Mass every day, to the consternation of his pastor who disproves of his mocking commentary after church.

After Frankie agrees to take the badgering Swank character under his wing, Maggie scores quick first-round knockouts that hark back to Mike Tyson's pre-facial tattoo and ear gnawing days. Unfortunately for Frankie's charge, the women's champion lands a sucker punch on Maggie that leads to a broken neck, which is where the film makes its unexpected transition from the boxing ring to the hospital room.

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