Everyone loves a good underdog story. Tales of the down-trodden lifting themselves up by their bootstraps and bolstered by a ragtag group of friends turned surrogate family who help realize dreams and full potential are the stuff of iconic blockbusters.

In Journey to the UFC, that's exactly what audiences get to see. It's an energizing story that shows how dogged dedication and a motor to grind it out can push past almost any obstacle.

First-time writer/director and Pyfer’s childhood friend, Chandler Henry, does a solid job keeping the action moving, using the familiar mix of interviews and fight footage that fans of this type of documentary expect and appreciate. Considering Journey to the UFC is his first—and so far only—film of any kind, his achievement is genuinely impressive.

Like other sports documentaries—whether it’s the classic NFL Films narrated by the late, great John Facenda or a six-year chronicle of two inner-city Chicago youths chasing NBA dreams (Hoop Dreams, 1994)—Journey to the UFC benefits from a wealth of available footage, adding to its credibility and dramatic appeal. But unlike those iconic NFL docs, which could turn a single game into an emotional tempest (even for a casual fan like me), Journey falls a bit short of the raw pathos you’d expect from a story so naturally suited to it.

It’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. Documentary filmmakers don’t have the luxury of fabricating dramatic moments—like emotional family reconciliations—if they simply didn’t happen in real life (at least not honest filmmakers). So, the responsibility falls to the director to uncover and evoke genuine emotion from those on camera.

Pyfer's life, especially his early years, is marked by significant interpersonal challenges, far more than a child should have to overcome.  But with a group of tough athletes who regularly beat each other unconscious for a living, digging into the depths of their souls is understandably a tougher challenge, let alone for a first-timer like Henry. There's more than a hint of it in Journey to the UFC, but it would have been nice if it had been plumbed a little more and to slightly greater impact.

Another aspect that doesn't quite reach the mark is also the key trait that enabled Pyfer to succeed: single-minded focus on achieving. For reaching a goal and overcoming adversity, there's not much that does a better job than a concentrated drive to succeed. On the other hand, dramatically, some nuance and a wider field of ontological depth and discovery can be the difference between good and great films.

When faced with the possibility that he'll never fight again, Pyfer doesn't, for instance, come to Jesus (metaphorically or literally) and begin to understand that he's more than his fists, or learn that he can tap into a strength greater than himself to keep going. At least, the film doesn't show that he does.

What Pyfer does instead—and impressively—is work incredibly hard and laser-focused on his goal. Undoubtedly, he is the film’s greatest asset. Outside the octagon, he’s as humble and earnest as he is fierce and precise inside it. You want to root for him, and the film gives you plenty of compelling reasons to do so. Journey to the UFC might unfold in a fairly straightforward way, with few explosive revelations, but it has enough heart and grit to be worth watching—especially if, like me, you’re a fan of sports documentaries.