Don't Knock the Rock
We'll always have Paris. We didn't have...we lost it...until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.
dialogue from
Casablanca (1942)
1/4/2006
Let me paint you a picture:
The year is 1986. The credits are rolling on a filthy unkempt alabaster movie screen at the Canarsie Triplex on Avenue L and East 93rd Street in Brooklyn New York. A slightly intoxicated 18 year old boy and his friend rise from their seats in the darkened smoke filled theatre which was once the size of a palace but, due to the inevitable surrender to commerce, had been divided into three absurdly small rooms that were a notch above a peep show.
As the two young men make there way through the aisle which is saturated with cigarette butts, empty Bon-Bon boxes and coated with sticky butter flavored topping, a rage starts to build. The 18 year old, long having lost his buzz, could not shake the deep feeling of being cheated. The 90 minutes he just sat through was so awful, so banal, so demoralizing, that he knew he needed to say something. As they passed through the once grand lobby now a cesspit of disrepair he turned to his friend and made the simple declaration:
"I am never paying to see another one of this guy’s movies again."
That reefered up boy...was me.
The movie...was Cobra.
And "this guy"...was Sylvester Stallone.
I know my statement sounded harsh but you have to understand where I was coming from. The year before (1985) I paid…actually paid…to see the completely dreadful Rambo: First Blood Part II. That movie had scene after scene of appalling jingoistic simplicity. ("Do we get to win this time Colonel?") A plotline that had some mealy mouthed bureaucrat betray Rambo and leave him for dead…along with many missing POWs…in Vietnam. The Vietnamese are presented as drooling, barbaric, sadistic, inhuman soldiers who chomp at the bit to get a chance to torture a pure righteous American. And to hammer home the point that "these people" are backward and uncivilized, the commanding officer is a soulless Soviet officer whose qualification for command seems to be that he is white and looks like Bo Svenson adrift in a sea of yellow animals. The overall theme of the picture was obvious - Have no faith in civil authorities and trust the men with the guns. ("I'm coming for you.")
In other words, you could imagine the Reagan/Bush Whitehouse screening this shit with twinkles in their eyes and smiles on their faces.
Then after that depressing experience, I paid…actually paid…to see Rocky IV. That was the one where Rambo…I mean Rocky…fights the Russian guy. To describe this movie as ridiculous would be a textbook understatement. Let’s just say that in it Oscar…I mean Rocky…goes to Moscow…Cold War Moscow…to fight this gigantic Russian Boxer named Drago played by a HUGE Dolph Lundgren. This boxer, who is on every cutting edge body enhancing drug that the Soviet Government can get its hands on, in an earlier bout, killed Apollo Creed in the ring ("You will lose."). Now Judge Dredd…I mean Rocky…has his work cut out for him. After a montage of him pulling large logs through snow covered frozen Russian tundra with really lame mid 80s pop rock playing in the background, Sly develops a strategy. He is going to let The Punisher…I mean Drago…beat him up for several rounds translating to a version of the Muhammad Ali "rope-a-dope." After he takes this merciless beating ("He is a piece of iron."), in the process "tiring out" Drago, Tango…or was it Cash?...I mean Rocky…turns up the firepower and knocks out the juiced up Russian. Incredibly, near the end of this silly fight, the crowd in the arena…located in the capital of the Soviet Union…start cheering "ROCK-EE…ROCK-EE." After The Rock is declared the winner he grabs the Mic and says, "If I could change…You could change…" etc. to thunderous cheers!!!
Yeah right.
And then there was Cobra. This was a "film" that had absolutely no merit whatsoever. Poorly written. Poorly directed. Phoned in passionless performances. A straight up zero star movie that deserved no audience. A waste of celluloid so painful, 18 year old kids walked out of theatres 90 minutes closer to death. Having just a little less faith in the inherent worth of art. With just a little less faith in the power of human dignity. Just a little less happy to be alive. ("You're the disease…I'm the cure.")
The 80s…What a fucking decade.
I kept that spontaneous vow for the last 21 years...and it wasn't that hard to do really. When Cliffhanger came out I drank wine. When Demolition Man was released I laughed out loud. But, most importantly, I did not hand over any of my hard earned cash to that Jackal. He burned me so often that there is absolutely no way I could pay $7 to $10 to sit in a theatre and watch Get Carter and keep my self respect.
But being that it is the New Year, and in the spirit of new beginnings, new directions, I decided to finally bury the hatchet and make my peace with Mr. Stallone. This evening I went to see…and actually paid for…the new release Rocky Balboa.
Why not?
It wasn't bad really…but it wasn't good either. It was a solid two star (2 1/2 if you're feeling generous) average film. Several scenes worked while other whole sequences needed major repair. Film is a visual medium that requires skill in composition and subtlety of storytelling. I find that when a director (or screenwriter) resorts to characters standing around and just flat out explaining plot points and themes, the results are less than stellar. This movie's whole first act, as well as large chunks of poor editing choices in the middle as well as a devastatingly heavy handed voice over during the climatic boxing match destroyed any pacing and, as a result, no dramatic tension was ever really generated. These flaws effectively cut my enjoyment by half.
But I don't want to slam the picture too much because it had some good things too. The boxing scenes were shot well and there are several poignant and powerful dialogue exchanges between the now aged icon and some of the other characters. By being straight forward and "pug like" Stallone successfully gets the audience on his side. The character he has created is disarming, slightly dim, but so morally centered and sweet that there is no way you can't like him. In his latest portrayal of one of the all time Everyman of American Cinema, Stallone certainly does not embarrass himself.
But, in 2007, as I sat in the darkened theatre in a very comfortable stadium sized seat complete with cup holder, sans smoke, discarded litter and gelatinous floor residue…a lifetime away from the Canarsie Triplex…a funny thing happened. I started to drift back in time. Not back to that confused reefer influenced, liquored up kid of 1986, mad as hell with a decadent Hollywood star who disappointed him one too many times. I started to go back much further than that. My mind's eye started to look beyond the twenty or so years that separated who I am and who I was. I began to see the nine-year-old kid who went to the theatre with his father to see the original Rocky back in 1976.
As scene after scene of the current movie played before my eyes, I remembered. I remembered that moment very near the end of the original. The moment when Rocky, a character whose "whole life was a million-to-one shot," was in the 15th round of the championship fight. Completely exhausted, his eyes grotesquely swollen and bleeding, he staggers towards the Champ, Apollo Creed, who is also barely standing. I remember at that time my father telling me that the only way Rocky could win was if he knocked out Apollo because, "he already had the belt." As the two men faced each other, the dramatic background music swelled, building and building, to an almost unbearable crescendo. I was on the edge of my seat the whole way. You see, I was truly rooting for this man to win.
Finally, Apollo takes a swing and misses leaving his already badly bruised ribs exposed. Rocky seizes the opportunity and delivers three solid punches, which lifts the Champ off his feet with every blow. The music perfectly punctuates every punch. Apollo desperately hugs Rocky, holding on for dear life. The bell rings, people swarm the two boxers, the fight is over.
In the midst of the swarm of the crowd and the loud noise, Apollo is heard on the soundtrack saying into Rocky's ear "There ain't going to be no rematch," to which Rocky replies, "I don't want one."
As the MC starts to announce the decision of the judges, a result I knew was going to be in Apollo's favor because of what my Dad said, Rocky is accosted by reporters. Surrounded by microphones and having questioned being shouted at him, Rocky starts asking for his Plain-Jane girlfriend Adrian who, at the beginning of the film, was also considered a "loser." She had been watching the fight from afar because she did not want to see him get beat up. Rocky's cries for her grow louder and louder until, with his eyes swollen shut and his face beaten to a pulp, he is finally shouting at the top of his lungs "ADRIAN" over and over again. This is crosscut with Adrian rushing through the crowd yelling "Rocky."
With victorious music playing the whole time, she finally makes it to the ring. She is then lifted through the ropes and the two are at long last together. They passionately embrace draped in the American Flag. A freeze-frame of that powerful image ends the film, a perfect culmination to the last two hours: The character's triumph is total.
Looking back at it, that was probably one of the most moving, beautiful, thoroughly satisfying cinematic moments I ever had in a theatre.
Needless to say, nothing remotely like that happened to me tonight…and in all fairness…I did not expect it to. Although this movie is not half the film the original was, it did restore a certain respect I use to have. It helped wipe away the embarrassment that this franchise had become. It cleansed the palette of the bitter, sour taste of four sequels, each progressively worse than the one before it. It reminded me of why I liked this guy in the first place. And for that I can honestly recommend it despite my lack luster rating.
Because, if you are like me, fondly remembering a time when you were a little kid, sitting in the dark, completely engrossed in the outcome of a fictional boxing match, deeply feeling the complete emotional triumph of a fictional character, so utterly moved by a modern day parable that reinforced, through brilliant, solid, filmmaking, the simple axiom:
"You can be anything you want to be, as long as you believe in yourself."
...then you should see this movie.
And afterwards, if you're not careful, you might be somewhat amazed that you were ever that innocent.
That is pretty damn cool.
Larry
UPDATE:
1/5/2007 - 2:21 AM
WOW!
I bought the DVD of Rocky after work today and just finished watching it. The ending is considerably different than I stated in my post. In my recollection, I seemed to have morphed the last two rounds of the fight as well as muddle other details, most notably there was no American flag involved. I must have blended that image with the one from Rocky IV which...I am sure...had that visual element. I am not going to buy that DVD to double check so I will leave it at that.
But I will leave the text as is and definitely stand by the emotional truth of my post. It was written as a steady flow of thought directly after coming home from the theatre and represents my subjective feelings on the subject rather than an objective truth. I hadn't seen the original in over twenty years at the time of the posting...and it showed. It just amazes me that the mind can remember something so clearly, so definitively, in this case 30 years later, and, in reality, can be so factualy wrong.
Getting old I guess.
Larry
posted by Larry B | 11:19 PM
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