Director Steven Caple can’t resist asking Michael B. Jordan if he can poke his nipple just once.

Leveling Off instead of Gonna Fly Now, OR, The Nanny that became a Fifth Wheel.

“You can’t win, kid!”
“I’m gunna win!”
He doesn’t win.
“You fought for the wrong reason!”
Training montage.
Kid wins.
For the right reason.

Uh, to get a concussion?

The mixed messages come like a roundhouse to the chin in CREED II, the bastard child of ROCKY, ROCKY II and ROCKY IV. Beat for beat, Creed for Creed, Drago for Drago.

The son of Apollo Creed, Adonis, takes on the son of Ivan Drago, Viktor. It’s almost too clever-clever for its own codpiece. For those old enough to remember the bruising, Apollo Creed died in the ring at the hands of Ivan Drago in 1985’s ROCKY IV. It took Rocky Balboa to even the score (somewhat) by defeating Ivan Drago on his own Russian turf.

Ivan not only lost the bout, but lost his wife and his country. Shunned by mother Russia, exiled to the Ukraine, decades of bitterness, he raises a son in cruel training for the purpose of weaponizing him against his lifelong enemy – Rocky. Now, with Adonis Creed winning the World Championship Dance Belt, under the tutelage of Rocky, Ivan sees a path to revenge against Philadelphia’s favorite son: his boy would clobber Rocky’s boy…

Thus, the plot of CREED II is predicated on a helluva lotta chances that lined up in favor of Ivan Drago: if Adonis had not become a boxer, and if Rocky had not trained him, then Ivan’s singular goal would have collapsed, stuck with a killing-machine son with no one to punch. Beating Adonis without Rocky at the helm would mean nothing – after all, Ivan had already killed Adonis’s father in combat; nothing left to prove. (Or was Ivan contemplating bringing his son to America anyway, to challenge whoever the Wurl Champeen was? Doesn’t seem that way – for 20 years he pretty much banked on Creed and Balboa following the exact path they were on, and voila! Plot Convenience heaven! With luck this good – forget Philly, hit Vegas!)

When the Dragos arrive in Philadelphia, they cast their gaze derisively on Rocky’s statue – shown correctly placed at the foot of the Philadelphia Art Museum steps, where they also see doofus tourists running up the steps emulating Rocky…

There’s something fun in CREED II paying homage to the legacy of the ROCKY franchise, but then, where does self-plagiarism overtake homage and bash it over the head and take its lunch money?

30-year-old Michael B. Jordan (probably too good an actor for this role) is once again Adonis “Donny” Creed, all muscle-on-muscle obsidian dynamite; Viktor is 28-year-old Florian Munteanu, a 6’4” real life German-Romanian boxer, nicknamed “Big Nasty”; Sylvester Stallone, now 71, reprises his role as Rocky – but he is now Mickey! (Two years older than Burgess Meredith in 1976’s ROCKY!); and Dolph Lundgren, now 60, had to brush up on his Russian to play Ivan Drago.

Cool seeing Stallone and Lundgren share the screen again as mortal enemies, Rocky and Ivan, and kudos to the film for spending time on their strained relationship, as all the relationships in the movie are given close focus: between Adonis and his fiancé Bianca (Tessa Thompson, playing a partially-deaf musician, looking too much like Lisa Bonet for her own good), and Adonis’s mother (Phylicia Rashad), as well as a subplot between Rocky and his estranged son Robert, which is resolved poignantly in the film’s final frames. Milo Ventimiglia reprises his role as Rocky’s son, and all I could think of is the tragedy that Stallone’s real life son, Sage (who excelled at his film role of Rocky’s son in 1990’s ROCKY V, and died of a heart attack in 2012) was not here, and how Stallone must be going there in his head to find that emotion of a truly lost son…

Surprisingly, the filmmakers (writers Stallone and Juel Taylor, and director Steven Caple Jr.) also redeem the ostensible villain, Ivan Drago! They show us Ivan’s ex-wife (Brigitte Nielsen, still statuesque, but tainted by that stint on FLAVOR OF LOVE – Jesus Christ!), haughtily married to some Russian statesman, looking down her nose at Ivan’s attempts to crawl back into Russia’s good graces by offering their son as champion against America. She takes the brunt of all the bad vibes of the Dragos onto her shoulders, as the woman who walked out on the father; now she would walk out on her son after his final bout, wordlessly, unforgiving, while Ivan – who had nothing but derision for his son’s efforts throughout the film (“You are embarrassing us and you are embarrassing Russia!” “You’re here to win – Why is he still standing?”) – suddenly tells Viktor at a low moment, “You did good. It’s okay,” and for some reason our tears flow…

All these poignant elements elevate CREED II to something more than just a “boxing movie,” and there are good visual directorial choices, with excellent production values throughout, the boxing faster and boomier than ever (with some real punches taken in those slomo shots, with skin shuddering and jaws misaligned!); and of course, Jordan’s acting is monumental, especially his portrayal of broken ribs – but the messages of Why We Fight just muddle the puddle. No surprise, as there IS no good reason why boxing exists in modern sports. Any rationale for why grown, cognizant men would beat each other with intent to addle the other’s brain into unconsciousness, without any malice aforethought – has got to run up against cognitive dissonance. While watching the movie, everything Rocky says seems to make sense, but as soon as you leave the theater, you realize he’s bashed you over the head and taken your lunch money.

For example: Rocky asks Adonis why he wants to fight young Drago, who challenged him for the Dance Belt. (At the weigh-in, father Ivan gets in a dig at Adonis, smirking at him, “You aren’t as big as your father.” Picture it: the man who killed your father – “If he dies, he dies!” – is now poking YOU?! Nah-uh!) Any wonder Adonis tells Rocky it’s about revenge! Rocky tells him it’s the wrong reason, and if he fights for that reason, Rocky won’t train him.

Thus – Adonis fights without Rocky in his corner – gets mangled – blames Rocky for not training him! (dude, YOU walked into that ring of your own volition; no one forced you!) – and has to find the “right” reason to get back in the ring for a rematch. Is it starting to sound stupid to you too?

Let’s talk about Rocky’s supposed “wrong reason”: He tells Adonis not to do it for revenge – yet in ROCKY IV, that was the exact reason Rocky did it – and won!

So the “right” reason is apparently “for your own honor.” But isn’t fighting for your father’s honor a good thing? How many other movies have declared that message loud and clear? To drive home the “honor,” Adonis didn’t even lose his fight to Viktor, but won on a technicality even though he was mashed. So he is still Wurl Champeen! He doesn’t even have to get back in the ring.

Except for honor.

Fuck off. What more honor does the World Champion need? Earlier, someone advises Adonis, “The belt’s not enough, You have to have a narrative that sticks to the ribs.”

You mean my broken ribs?

(SPOILER: No matter the mixed message, they stick to it like barbecue ribs: Viktor himself is fighting for revenge for his father, so doesn’t win either of his matches against Adonis. An underlying point that may go unnoticed.)

Nonetheless, into Act III we stumble, headfirst into the Training Montage. The re-match will be held in Russia – ‘No’ is not an option. Uh, why not? Because.

Rocky and Adonis do not reconcile with any cringey pep speech; Stallone, while sticking to the age-old Inspirational Movie format, has learned not to cornball it.

Out to some distant rawdog desert training ground they go, Rocky and Adonis, with Wood Harris along as 2^nd trainer (he’s the son of Duke – Tony Burton, Apollo’s ringman; you know him as the “Noooo!” guy in slow motion).

Remember, kids: don’t fight for your father’s honor, or your girlfriend’s honor, or your country’s honor; just fight to aggrandize yourself… uh, did that come out right? (Which is what the filmmakers should be asking themselves.)

CREED II is basically the first two ROCKY movies mashed together with the character from ROCKY IV, and there are constant dialogue callbacks (“He’s just a man – be more man than him!” “This guy – he’s dangerous–” “I’m dangerous!”), yet movie retains its own character due to the “street” soundtrack; so amazing how music can affect how we perceive a visual film! Once again, composer is Ludwig Göransson. And we do hear a snatch of Bill Conti’s infamous Gonna Fly Now during a match – you can guess which part of which match.

We “feel” it’s Michael B. Jordan’s franchise now, we sense the passing of the torch, with the soundtrack moving away from the orchestral feel of the ROCKY era and into the hip-hop/orchestral. Stallone has stated this is “his last rodeo” as Rocky Balboa, and that Michael B. Jordan will “carry the mantle now.” We can only hope that Steven Caple, or Ryan Coogler (who is to Jordan what Scorsese was to De Niro, who couldn’t direct here due to schedule) will make the ongoing tale of Adonis Creed as lovable and compelling as that of Rocky Balboa.

Well, they still have three more ROCKY movies to plagiarize—I mean, homage…

END

Kevin James takes a photo of Salma Hayek’s ass, the only ass onscreen worth taking a photo of.

Would you like a little movie to go with your pee jokes?

Rob Schneider isn’t here. Nonetheless, GROWN UPS 2 is still worse than its predecessor. It starts with a pee joke, then a tit joke, then a shit joke, then another pee joke, then a combination burp-sneeze-fart trifecta douchefecta. You couldn’t make a movie this bad if you were trying to make a movie this bad. So we congratulate long-time Adam Sandler director Dennis Dugan for achieving the impossible.

The four friends from the last movie (played by Sandler, Chris Rock, Kevin James and David Spade) have inexplicably decided to all reside in the same small town they grew up in, after having left it to pursue their careers. In the last movie, they all rendezvoused here to pay homage to their dead high school coach; now, there’s zero reason why they are living here pursuing lives as layabouts and wieners, as they meander through a script (by Fred Wolf, Sandler and Tim Herlihy) as unrealistic as it is unfunny. About one hour into GROWN UPS 2, we give up all hope this dog-queef of a movie will come anywhere near a story, and go do something more productive, like rubbing the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.

Disjointed scenes of family life, social life, the kids of the principals interacting, Salma Hayek’s tits, rolling David Spade down the road in a tractor tire (yeah, that’s a bit), Colin Quinn simulating taking an ice cream shit, Taylor Lautner as an ambiguously-homo fraternity jock, Salma Hayek’s tits, Alexander Ludwig as Spade’s punk kid, Maya Rudolph playing Rock’s ugly wife again (no wait! People tell me she’s “beautiful.” If you say so), college chicks in bikinis, Salma Hayek’s tits, Shaq as a dopey cop, Nick Swardson ably filling Schneider’s shoes as resident douchebag, and Sandler hiring every single person he knows on the planet for an amateurish cameo.

There is a scene of unbelievable ignorance, which sums up how this movie reached its audience: Maria Bello and Kevin James show their small son math flashcards, like 8+6, to which the son answers “38” or some such idiocy. They PRAISE him. On it goes with the flashcards, every answer wrong from this idiot child, yet receiving PRAISE not correction, because they “don’t want to destroy his confidence.” Audience, you do realize that kid is YOU? Never learning the difference between quality and stupidity, the stage set to grow up an Adam Sandler fan; a Venn diagram overlapping Republicans as far away from facts as possible.

Sandler himself plays a normal guy, and I am thankful for this small mercy, as I quite like his Everyman demeanor, but Kevin James quickly cancels that out with his fat-based tryhard pratfalls.

As with the last movie, there is ONE SINGLE MOMENT that achieves any kind of empathy or resonance with normal human beings. Sandler reaches a last straw seeing his son bullied, so in order to show him that a bully needs to be stood up to, he takes on his own bully from ages past – Steve Austin. As they face off, Austin, who “has a son in Afghanistan” realizes “we’d do anything for our sons,” and whispers to Sandler that he would take a dive. It is so touching, I swear I almost cried.

Then Kevin James does something fucking stupid.

END

Retirement never looked so good – for the YOUNG guy!

Rocky LX: Grandpa’s Revenge, OR, The Senior Citizen that became a Child Beater.

Something old (Stallone), something new (this film), something borrowed (the script from ROCKY), something blue (Talia Shire, excised from this story for dramatic impact and watching from the ropes as ROCKY BALBOA garners accolades as the best Rocky movie since ROCKY).

Whilst working in one mediocre/forgotten/unseen film after another, Sylvester Stallone must have champed at the bit watching the glut of sequels, prequels and freak-quels litter the Hollywood wasteland. So it was never a question of IF his dambuster icon, Rocky, would tread the canvas once more, but whether the excursion would be a worthwhile one or just another throwaway sequel adding to the dilution of Rocky’s legacy. Thankfully, writer-director-star Stallone waited for the right time and the right script to make it worthwhile. (We are told that his other stormbringer, Rambo, is following suit.)

Yes, it’s about resurrecting a staple source of income, mining a well long thought run dry – but there’s nothing wrong with that if it is done this compellingly. The problem with franchises revisiting their roots is that they neglect the very elements that earned them their laurels, going “Hollywood” to chase the wider demographics and the easy cash. Stallone has gone the way of the darker prequels and pared-down sequels, in giving us an earthy, gritty final chapter in the Rocky legacy, which makes for a sturdy bookend to the series.

No blows below the belt.

Bringing to mind two recent revampings, viewing ROCKY BALBOA is like watching BATMAN BEGINS (a grittier character study of a well-worn icon, using latest filmic techniques), but with the content of SUPERMAN RETURNS (the script for the first movie in the series dusted off and sold as original).

The opening lines unashamedly foreshadow the plot, as we see current World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, Mason “The Line” Dixon (real-life light heavyweight champion, Antonio Tarver) in a television broadcast, being criticized as winning against losers in uninspiring matches (mayhaps a commentary on the state of boxing today?), commentator opining that boxing is “looking for a warrior to thrill us with his passion.” Cue Rocky’s saddened Philadelphia existence, wife Adrian having died five years ago, the Italian Stallion now eking out a living managing a reasonably popular Italian restaurant called “Adrian’s” (with Mexican cooks – most definitely a commentary on the workforce of today).

In yet another snide commentary – on the virtual world of the iPod and eFluenced generation – the plot is jogged into training by a televised computer matchup pitting a former boxing champ, Rocky, with the current champ, Dixon, Rocky’s pixels knocking out Dixon’s pixels, which – like the soft-minded real world of today – causes untold media debate and streetside squabbles pertaining to the “reality” of the computer’s decision.

Meanwhile, Rocky (Stallone, doing his best acting since COP LAND, 1997), pushing 60 and experiencing the mid-life crisis most of us go through at 40, points to his stomach and confesses to Pauly (Burt Young, as acerbic as ever) that he’s “still got some junk in the basement.” (I imagine the “basement” would be lower than the abdominal area, but I suppose it wouldn’t read as well if he said, “Yo, Pauly. I’ve still got some junk in my mezzanine.”)

Whatever the metaphor, we gather that Rocky wants to taste his own blood again as it spurts from his gashed brow ridges and broken teeth. Just local matches, he asserts. But fate will once more trip him into the spotlight, as Dixon’s managers, with cash signs in their eyes, cajole Rocky into an exhibition match on the strength of the public outcry of the computer matchup.

Cue – The Montage. Add Bill Conti‘s fanfare. Add beefcake. Serve hot. Enjoy. Admit it – every time you hear those blaring horns you make a promise to yourself to lose some pounds via one-handed pushups. Conti’s Rocky theme (Gonna Fly Now, birthed to be married to the ROCKY franchise forever, amen) stands as tall as Lalo Schifrin’s MISSION IMPOSSIBLE theme or Ennio Morricone’s DOLLAR trilogy figures – as iconic as the movie it was created for.

A welcome cameo by Tony Burton as Duke, hardened corner man from all six ROCKY movies: “We’re gonna develop those hurtin’ bombs.” Milo Ventimiglia plays Rocky’s accountant son as blandly as only an accountant could. (Stallone’s real son Sage, who appeared in ROCKY V, opting out. An exchange between Pauly and Rocky ostensibly regards his son’s absence from Adrian’s grave, but is really a wry nod to Sage’s absence due to business commitments. Pauly: “The kid shoulda been here.” Rocky: “The kid gets a little busy sometimes.”)

A girl who has been scared all her life (Geraldine Hughes) gives Rocky the inspirational “Fighters fight” speech. Character realism? No. But it’s a Rocky movie. Rocky himself soliloquys on life, which a young generation will no doubt latch onto as their philosophies, but which us geezers are inured to: “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.” Like the KISS legacy, youngsters who witness this “rebirth” of Rocky will soon rediscover a wealth of past glories. And bad fashion decisions. (To whit: Mr. T. in ROCKY III and Gene Simmons from the Asylum era – both with bad haircuts and wearing about the same amount of man-jewelry.)

Burt Young was 36 when he made ROCKY. And he looked 60. Stallone is now 60.
And Burt Young still looks like that…

ROCKY BALBOA, like ROCKY, is not about boxing. It’s not about winning. Like ROCKY, it’s about heart. So no matter the improbability of a geezer going up against a freight train, it’s not about the outcome. It’s about “going the distance.” And Stallone surely looks to be in the shape to do it. The only aspect that gives away his sexagenarian status is a few varicose veins in his right shoulder, otherwise, even if Stallone himself could never stand up to a real life champion half his age, it surely looks like Rocky could. (In later years, Stallone would attest to having a torn vein in that area from injuries on ROCKY II, and has since covered the blemish with massive tattoos.)

Dixon is also given a compelling reason to enter this match which will make him a loser whether he wins or loses the bout. (He wins – he beat up an old man; he loses – an old man beat him up.) An old trainer tells him, “Pride is what brought you here. Losing it is what brought you back.” He may be a winner in the ring – but a loser when it comes to pride. He is not made out to be too shallow or villainous, which is credit on Stallone’s part, whose controlled directorial and writing style in this film evokes an Eastwood-ian self-composure. Even in Rocky’s first streetside scuffle, there is initially an expectation that we are going to see him pull the guns out – but the two-second pushing scene is merely a cinematic hiccup. There is no manipulative music or camera god-angles.

Admittedly, the manipulation is saved for the final act, most obviously with Gotta Fly Now and then surprisingly, filmed entirely like a HBO pay-per-view sports event, with god-angles galore, which speaks derogatory volumes about our current sensibilities – meaning, real-life modern sports events have adopted the glam and slam of a Rocky movie, so filming this Rocky segment as if it was a real life event is an ironic case of art imitating life, which imitated art in the first place. The final fight scene also pays homage to Frank Miller’s sterling SIN CITY (2005) with certain shots in black and white with snatches of startling color.

Dare I state the outcome? If you’ve seen ROCKY, you’ll know the ending. And Rocky/Stallone makes it clear that this will be Rocky’s swansong, “I’ve gotten rid of the Beast.” The end credits feature shots of people running up the famous stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, putting a capper on the series, as we all realize, with a parting tear, that any more would definitely be parody.

No more junk in the mezzanine.

END