ROCKY (1976) *** My very favorite thing about this film is how Sylvester Stallone refused to sell it until he could find someone to let him be Rocky. "Oh no, it's going to be way too big of a film for you.", there must be all kinds of bullshit that he can just look back at and laugh. Hopefully he can remember parts of the names of the perpetrators. Of course it wouldn't be so fun if he hadn't gone out and vindicated himself in spades. The result is that, for people of my generation, no matter how many lousy movies he does Sly can never be a bum. Because he's Rocky Balboa. The Italian Stallion. John G. Avildsen shoots a film spectacular in its refusal to shake off the stagnant vulgar and mundane. There is no sense of pacing, only moments that come upon you. This is all perfectly matched by Bill Conti's music, not just the famous score but even more so the timid and furtive variations that precede the aural explosions. It's not really a boxing movie, much, really. It's a flare and warning shot that we can all try as hard as Rocky if we want to, and that all the girls can bloom like Talia Shire if they're willing to, and there's that moment waiting out there for us like it did for Burgess Meredith, but there's as little certainty for us as there was for Stallon (or the Carl Weathers character). So train or not, pay attention or not, keep your guard up or not, try or not. It ain't all the same. Just don't expect an external fanfare while you're doin' it.
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