IMDb #224 Review: Rocky (1976)

Source: Wikipedia

As a boxing parallel to his own career, Sly Stallone slugs and slurs through the ultimate underdog story. A pet project that Stallone nearly had to sell his dog to pay for, Rocky charts the inspirational metamorphosis of a total loser into a triumphant loser (with a girlfriend).

Before he became a bloated caricature of his early opponents, the Italian Stallion beat the snot out of fellow nobodies for petty cash. Loan shark debt collector by day, punching bag by night. A champ for chump change.

He rambles about his woes to his pet turtles, the shy pet shop girl, the gravel-voiced gym manager, or his weaselly meat-locker buddy. Anybody who’ll pretend to listen.

Then an opportunity plunks in his oversize lap. Thanks to fortuitous embuggerances, the world heavyweight champion challenges Rocky Balboa for a shot at the title.

Enough endearingly clumsy thirty-something romance. Enough intentionally clunky comedy. Enough depressing footage of grubby Philadelphia. There’s an American dream to pursue.

It’s easy to forget the difficulty of the transformation. Before Rocky had a statue on the art museum steps — before the mother of all training montages — the first run began around 4 a.m., 28 degrees Fahrenheit in a Pennsylvanian December. Not fun. But necessary.

The contrast between the contestants is spectacular. Apollo imports his personal barber, reserves ringside seats, funds advertising, orders flowers for the mayor’s wife. Rocky punches raw meat.

The goal isn’t to win. It’s to prove himself, to "go the distance," whatever that might mean. Which Sly does, beautifully.

Recommended for anonymous urbanites, dejected southpaws, and single gals who (contrary to Hollywood opinion) still look plenty fine in horn-rimmed glasses.

119 minutes.