Rocky - 1976
Rocky is the most predictable film of all time.
Rocky is a one of a kind, truly remarkable sports tale the likes of which you'll rarely find in the history of cinema.
How could both be true at the same time? Well, that's the magic, see. This is the burning core at the heart of this personal passion project that the 30 year old Italian practically WILLED onto the big screen.
Yet, Rocky is actually a lot different than you probably remember it. It doesn't have the long, drawn out triumphant 15-rounder as its chef's kiss (that's Rocky II). Nor is it the the most lovably ludicrous (read: totally awesome) montage-fest of re-watchability in a Cold War-slaying adrenaline rush (that would be Rocky IV). We could keep doing this: Clubber Lang and the behind-the-scenes friendly spar sesh between Apollo and Rock in III, the jaw-dropping motivational speech for his son in Rocky Balboa and on and on. But when putting the entire group under close scrutiny, as yet another collision of opposites in this review, Rocky stands alone.
To get at this distinctiveness, it's best to start with this one truth: Rocky is hardly a boxing movie. It's not utterly devoid of fighting. There is a five minute table-setter in the opening, where we get to see just how rough and tumble, how down on his luck this "Italian Stallion" really is. He's scrapping for peanuts in arenas which are about as small and away from the big time as can be. But even here, this is all character-building "stuff." This is myth-making. It's "starting from the bottom."
Then of course there is the final sequence between the champ and the challenger. Here too a melding often takes place (at least it did for me). Sometimes we import the entirety of the brawl that happens in II into this one. In actuality, this entire fight is less than 10 minutes. Whole rounds are simply skipped over (yes I realize the sequel has some of this as well). Still, things are very tightly edited, dialogue in the corner is at a bare minimum, and the final bell makes it all painfully obvious. As the mics rush in on Rocky, you can VERY faintly hear the announcers in the background delineating the split decision. Creed's hand is lifted in the periphery for but a moment, before Rock's shouts of love and his grisly visage fill the frame.
The message is clear here: This wasn't really all about boxing. Oh, it was in a certain way. It was about going the distance, battling against the odds, facing the giants, and all of those other well-worn sports cliches. It was about shocking the world and proving something to yourself. Growth and transformation. Discipline, staying power, and GUTS. Sure, it's a sports flick in those ways. But it's almost more a tale about the triumph of the human spirit. This is where Rocky sets itself apart. We become very personally, emotionally involved. The everyman's hero journey is our own.
So, besides these things, if Rocky isn't just a sports pantheon film (it is decidedly that), then what is its meaning? Well, the answer is right there in the ring before the final freeze frame. "Adriiiiiiiian! Adrriiaaaan!" See, Rocky is a love story. Returning to that everyman business, it's also an immigrant's tale, and a blue collar one to boot. Lest we forget, the Rocky we meet in the rather slow, very methodical first hour of this story smokes occasionally, drinks beer, and really just strolls about town. He also tries to muscle some people out of money for a loan shark, so he can gather some meagre earnings. Boxing is almost an afterthought.
But he does really dig the painfully shy girl at the local corner pet shop, the sister of one of his best friends Paulie. (We're quick to forget, by the way, how much of an abusive monster Paulie is in the beginning. It's to Burt Young's credit that we empathize with the broken man he is while finding his behavior despicable). As a kid, I missed just how much financial hardship and the struggle to obtain meaningful hard work (a theme again highlighted in the sequel) played into this whole narrative.
In any case, after trying and failing to woo Adrian at the shop a few times, he uses Paulie for a kind of backdoor entry. What follow is one of the cutest, quirky, romantic love stories you'll ever see. Stallone is a confounding synthesis of opposites. He is big-hearted and tender, even while growling through his own form of broken English. But Avildsen and Stallone don't attempt to pave over this difficulty. Instead, they mine it for this deeply human humor. The first hour of the film is really quite funny. It's the ultimate meet cute. It's winning and moving and, lest it fall into treacly cliche, Rocky's gruffness always stands alongside his good nature. In fact, it is really Sly's performance all along which keeps the film from stumbling into sports caricature. He deserved all the accolades he garnered for not only the dynamic screenplay but the way he brought it to life.
We've mentioned Stallone, Shire, and Young. We could just as easily note the hard-nosed Mick (played by the vivacious Burgess Meredith) who synthesizes all I've just said about roughness and heart, a sharp tongue and keen wit, a working class rumbler all his days. Or the spirited toughness demonstrated by the champ and the consummate professional Apollo Creed. Carl Weathers looks great, channels Ali or something like him, and lets enough light in for us to view him as a competitor and a man rather than just the "sports movie villain" archetype. Put it all together and you get a drama with a raw, gritty feel. One that in being rougher and more unpolished, remains still the best. A masterful fusion of authentic, humble beginnings and the ebullient Capra-esque celebration of the human spirit. THIS is why people used to go to the big screen.
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