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Punch drunk

Stallone's back in the trunks that made him
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By Steffen Silvis
Staff Writer, The Prague Post
March 7th, 2007 issue

COURTESY PHOTO
"And that's for Mr. T!" Stallone comes back in the only way he knows how.
As the standard joke for film sequels is to refer to a project as Rocky XXVII, Sylvester Stallone has re-entered the ring of his first success as simply Rocky Balboa. That doesn’t mean, however, that the film isn’t a joke. As one critic in the States rightly suggested, the latest Rocky is really a bit of unintentional self-parody. It’s really a desperate comeback for a waning star.
This latest installment finds the Italian Stallion fully out to pasture. Rocky has retired from boxing to concentrate on a small café that he owns in Philadelphia. Rocky V (this current film would be VI, but who’s counting?) left both Stallone and his fan base disappointed, as it ended with our pummeled hero having lost almost everything. Now he’s back as a successful restaurateur, though he has lost his wife, Adrian, whose grave he visits every week.
Rocky has settled into an uneasy retirement, however. A pugilist at rest, he’s aware that his salad days are behind him, and so he tends to use his eatery as a ring wherein he can re-wrestle with his past. He becomes the resident bore, lurching from one table of diners to the next, spilling autobiography as one can almost imagine Stallone doing at one of the many Planet Hollywoods.
Rocky Balboa

Directed by Sylvester Stallone
With Sylvester Stallone, Burt Young, Milo Ventimiglia, Geraldine Hughes and Antonio Tarver

Into Rocky’s tidy, organized life comes a challenge inspired by a television sports channel to dust off his gloves and have a go at the current world champion, Mason “The Line” Dixon (Antonio Tarver). His semi-estranged son (Milo Ventimiglia) and his old friend and brother-in-law Paulie (Burt Young) are adamantly opposed to his plans. But Rocky suddenly feels the fight could give him a new lease on life, so he jumps back into training after having allowed himself to run to fat behind his well-stocked memories.
The big fight will take place in Las Vegas, and age will eventually hold its own against reckless youth. It is Rocky after all, and the film becomes a compilation of Stallone’s greatest hits. Many moments from the first film are relived either through filmic flashback (Burgess Meredith from the tomb to you) or as wistful remembrance. Though her character is supposedly dead, actress Talia Shire, who played Adrian throughout the Rocky franchise, could easily qualify as the film’s co-star.
There are the strains of that familiar score, the run up to the top of the steps of Philadelphia’s art museum, the frozen-carcass-as-punching-bag workouts at the local slaughterhouse, the blood, the sweat and the tears. Not as much blood as in the past, though. Rocky leaves the ring in Las Vegas looking less like a mask of Oedipus this time around. He’s a real winner, dammit.
The film is, naturally, a perfect showcase for Stallone’s limitations. As he is also the director, there’s a sad narcissism at work throughout. A sports arena stuffed with thousands of extras methodically chanting his creation’s name is epic ego-assuagement at its height, made worse by the fact that the cinema audience also feels hounded to cheer.
The story is crammed with claptrap sentiment, going so far as to introduce a new character into the mix, Punchy — a tragic mutt rescued from the pound that Rocky sees as emblematic of his poor old self. He’s a man who will take a wayward youth under his wing, win back his son’s affections, bring hope into the world of a single mother (the excellent Geraldine Hughes) and will even give the irascible Paulie a reason for living. How can one’s stomach hold so much goodness?
Stallone’s Rocky is, again, an earnest mumbler of “yo”s and “youse”s, given to exposing gaps in his education: “Jamaica … European.” Hughes is actually touching as the poor single mom, Marie, while Young leaves little of the scenery unchewed as Paulie.
For those who can’t quite get enough of Stallone’s scrapbook (and mine is obviously a minority opinion, as this film has been a hit with most audiences), the good news is that his next film will dust off yet another of his hallowed waxworks. What could possibly follow Rocky Balboa except for John Rambo?

Steffen Silvis can be reached at ssilvis@praguepost.com


Other articles in Night & Day (7/03/2007):

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