Chase’s 4-Star Film Reviews (a series)
Not just film analysis, but my story behind the reviews.
WELCOME TO MY 4-STAR FILM REVIEWS:
It’s where I will be writing about my favorite films, and why they are the most memorable and impactful movies of my life.
I should note that “4-Star” in some circles is the best you can get. 4 out of 4 stars, not 5.
To start this series off, I’ve written about one of the greatest “sports” films ever made, as well as one of the greatest American films in general, and a genuine classic.
Rocky (1976): My Review, My Story
Unless you want to experience a type of anger akin to what you might feel if someone called your dog, or perhaps your kid, ugly (whether objectively true or not), I highly recommend you to NOT read critical reviews of your favorite childhood movie.
As I searched for a still from Rocky for this review, I ran across an article published in the BBC “Culture” section in 2016 with the clickbait-y title, “Is Rocky ‘the most successful bad film ever made’?” Even though I knew I was taking the bait, I had to read this nonsense for myself. And indeed, it was nonsense. It was a hit-job filled with unnecessary harshness and weak points. The author points out that Adrian “magically” changes “after one kiss from Balboa.” And? This is what makes the movie bad? (I think it’s actually part of what makes the film good) Or the poor soundtrack with the “toe-curlingly dreadful lyrics”? So yeah, I was a little angry. But then I scrolled down and saw the next review by this author: “Why the Empire Strikes Back is Overrated”. Enough said there.
So I’m going to stick with what I think, and offer a more favorable review. One that is admittedly and unabashedly subjective and based on my experience with the film. With Rocky.
I had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing Rocky V before any of the other four. I was so young, I actually thought it was good. The strained father-son relationship. Tommy Morrison playing Tommy Gunn. Street fighting. What else could a 5-year-old ask for? Eventually, I would watch the others and rewatch V, and understand just how incredibly awful it is.
Even more unforgivable than watching V first, however, was watching the original 1976 Rocky last.
Because of this viewing order, I built up this image of who Rocky the character was in 2–5 before understanding who he was before. Before Adrian. Before his first fight with Apollo Creed. Before Mickey told him to chase a chicken. All I knew of Rocky was this image of him chasing that chicken and splitting wood and running up the spine of a snowy mountain in Russia and screaming the name of his opponent (“DRAGO!”). These were the parts of the series that made me train harder for my high school wrestling career. They made me want to take a 12-pound ax and chop down a tree or go run 10 miles with the Rocky Soundtrack spinning and skipping in my Walkman that I somehow stuffed into my gym shorts. “Hearts on Fire”, “Eye of the Tiger”.
But then I finally got my hands on the original Rocky. I wasn’t emotionally prepared.
The first scene that I remember being taken aback by was when Rocky walks the neighborhood girl home and lectures her about her reputation. It’s weird, really, how this scene spoke to me. It’s not what he says to her. It’s that he cares, even as she says, “Screw you, creepo!” And then the heartbreak I felt after, when Rocky says to himself, “Yeah, who are you to give advice, creepo? Huh? Who are you?” This is the main theme of the film, and the theme of the majority of literature: Who am I? For Rocky, he’s a nobody. Just a bum without even a locker at his local boxing gym.
And it’s this theme that carries through to the very end. Before the big fight, Rocky confides in Adrian that he doesn’t care about winning. He just wants to do something no one else has ever done: go the distance with Creed. Because if he can do something no one else has done, he’ll no longer be a nobody. He’ll be a somebody. At least to himself. And that’s what matters.
My teenage mind was blown. My whole view on Rocky was that he would do whatever it takes to win. And that’s it. That was the point of those famous training montages, right? I didn’t understand that Rocky was about more than just winning.
There is a certain gravitas, a weight in the original that I felt pressing down on me when I first watched it. It was when Rocky looks up at the enormous banner of himself in the arena, but feels so small. Again, like a nobody. It was when Mickey humbles himself to ask Rocky, without ever saying the words, to let him be his manager. I cried, still cry, during this scene when Rocky tears into him, also without saying the words to his face, but then forgives him. They need each other. It’s when Rocky admits to Adrian, without looking at her, that it bothers him when others make fun of him. And when Adrian finally fights back against Paulie, I understood that this was a more complete film than the other 4 Rocky’s. And it was about more than just Rocky himself. Adrian has her own character arc.
Rocky and Adrian’s relationship has its own arc, as well. In fact, I’ll argue that Rocky is more of a love story than any other trope. More than “the underdog up against all the odds” or “persevering” or “Gonna’ Fly Now”.
In the opening of the film, after Rocky’s dirty fight, in the locker room he’s alone, except for the promoter giving him his cut of the earnings, as well as his opponent. It’s pitiful, really. The meager amount of money. No manager. No one there for him.
But this changes.
We see Rocky’s attraction to Adrian. Their courtship. How they lean on each other and change each other. And in the end, after the fight, Rocky doesn’t care about the judges’ results or a post-match interview. He screams after Adrian. She screams after him. And there she is. There they are. And the final lines of the film are them embracing and proclaiming to each other “I love you!” Not, “You did it!” Or, “I did it!” (the “Yo, Adrian!” exclamation comes at the end of Rocky II) No, it’s “I love you”, roll credits.
Over 20 years and a dozen views later, I’m here, still getting chills at the end. Still crying. Still screaming along in my heart with Adrian to all the Paulie’s, to all of my demons, “I’m not a loser!” I know exactly what Rocky means when he says, “she’s got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps.” And I can even empathize with a tired-with-life, drunken, and despicable Paulie when he says, “I can’t haul meat no more.”
Rocky is one of those movies that I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of. It’s inspirational, for sure, and can drive someone (me) to drink a glass of eggs for instant protein. But it’s also so much more. It’s a love story. It’s the journey of understanding who you are. And it’s a story of self-realization for two people.
Rocky is not only a 4-star film, it’s a film that means a great deal to me. I have the memory of watching it for the first time on my 12-inch TV in my high school bedroom, when it raised my maturity level (both as a budding student of film and a budding empathetic human). I remember buying it on DVD and making my wife watch it for the first time, trying to get her to have the same epiphany I had when I realized that Rocky didn’t just fight Dolph Lundgren or Mr. T. “See, he’s fighting himself and his self-doubt as much as anything else.” And I remember streaming it a couple of weeks ago while folding laundry. It took me a full 2 hours to fold a few shirts. I’ll say it again, people: chills. Chills.
