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Add FightsATW on GoogleThe ultimate great white hope had to be fictional. For parts of three decades (the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s), Black fighters dominated the heavyweight division. In 1976, in the middle of that stretch of dominance, a near-penniless Sylvester Stallone watched the unheralded Chuck Wepner go nearly fifteen rounds with the great Muhammad Ali, took pen to paper, and, over surely frantic and sleepless eighty-four hours, produced the screenplay for Rocky. The road from script to screen was arduous and full of complications (more on that below), but in the end, Rocky, and the eight films that followed (soon to be nine with Creed IV in pre-production), have created a rich and remarkable cinematic legacy. Rich because most of the films are good (or at least entertaining), and remarkable because of just how resilient and (particularly with the Creed films) malleable the series has become.
Just when it seemed like we had seen the last of Rocky forever in 2006 with Stallone’s presumed swan song to the character Rocky Balboa, a decade later Rocky was resurrected by Ryan Coogler through the son of the titular character’s most memorable opponent, and later, friend.
Nine films stemming from a low-budget film now fifty years old, about a down-on-his-luck boxer who would go on to be immortalized in bronze, fight the Cold War, earn redemption and peace, and pass the torch onto a younger and, significantly, not at all white standard bearer who could bear the standard…well, like I said, remarkable.
On this fiftieth anniversary of the first film, the question that occurred to me was simple: How do these movies stack up against one another? The Rocky film series spans five eras. The first is what I’ll call the “Palooka era,” composed of Rocky I & II. Next comes the Cartoon era of Rocky III & IV. After that came the Sad Bastard, return-to-basics era of Rocky V & Rocky Balboa. The Creed era with Rocky, Creed & Creed II, and finally the Post-Rocky Creed Era (Creed III and presumably Creed IV).
Those five eras are made up of sometimes wildly different films, held together by the connective tissue of Rocky Balboa, Sylvester Stallone’s greatest creation. Now that we seem to be moving into a post-Stallone phase, the time seems ripe in this fiftieth year since the first film, and with the upcoming biopic I Play Rocky not long from release, to put the films in order.
Let’s ring that bell.
Rocky V
There’s no getting around it, Rocky V isn’t just the runt of the litter; this mopey mess of a film nearly killed the franchise altogether. There is a germ of a good idea here. Picking up right where Rocky IV left off, with our hero suffering from shaking hands in the post-Drago fight locker room. Soon after, Rocky discovers that all the money he’s accumulated in his championship career is gone, thanks to some bad “help” from his brother-in-law, Paulie. There’s an early attempt to show how a fighter leaves the ring physically and cognitively diminished and tries to start a new life, which might have made for an interesting, if downbeat, movie. Rocky sells everything and moves back into his old Philly neighborhood. Upon return, Rocky starts to train a young fighter named Tommy (played by former WBO heavyweight champion Tommy Morrison). Unfortunately, Morrison gives a performance so wooden, you’d swear he was a farmer’s fence post. One has to wonder whether Morrison’s character’s name had to be “Tommy”; otherwise, Morrison might not have responded. Richard Gant gives the best performance in the film as a Don King-like promoter named Duke. Gant isn’t given much more than one note to play from Stallone’s dull and unimaginative screenplay, but at least the actor provides the film some energy.
All in all, Rocky V is a torpid affair that most fans of the series (myself included) pretend doesn’t exist. Of all the Rocky films, V was the least successful commercially and critically. Even Stallone hated it, rating it a zero out of ten. And remember, he wrote it. Two other factors make the film even more depressing: the fact that it was directed by OG Rocky director John G. Avildsen (to no good effect), and Stallone’s beautiful son Sage (who plays his son in the movie), who never found a place for himself in the movie business, would go on to die at the age of just 36 due to coronary artery disease. In just about every possible way, Rocky V is the worst and most depressing film of the franchise, and just a miserable film by any standard. Stallone would later make Rocky Balboa as an apology for Rocky V. More on that film later.
Rocky IV
Hands down, the silliest of all eight Rocky-related films, Rocky IV is nonetheless entertaining due to the terrific training montages and the brutally filmed fight between Rocky and Ivan Drago (played by the almost expressionless Dolph Lundgren). After Drago kills Apollo Creed (a series low point) in an exhibition match, Rocky goes to Russia to fight Drago on his own turf to avenge his fallen friend. Rocky IV was released in 1985, right smack in the tail end of the Cold War between Russia and the United States, and the Reagan presidency. Written and directed by Stallone, and coming in at under 90 minutes (including flashbacks to the previous films), Rocky IV is in a mad rush to get to the main event: The good American vs. the evil Russian. There is less than zero nuance in the film. Russian kills friend; Rocky avenges friend. But there is subtext, however hamfisted.
As ridiculous as it sounds, and it is ridiculous, the fight between Rocky and Drago is a stand-in for U.S. / Russian relations. As Rocky comes back in the later rounds of the fight after taking terrible punishment, the Russian crowd begins to chant his name like the arena somehow filled up with a bunch of Philly transplants. Even the members of the Kremlin rise to their feet to celebrate the brave American fighter. This film actually has the stones to suggest that Rocky Balboa went into Russia, vanquished their hero, and in doing so, somehow ended the Cold War all by himself. Rocky IV is by far the dumbest film in the series, but if you turn your brain off for 90 minutes, I’ll be damned if resistance is not only difficult, but probably futile. I have no doubt that had this film come out today, it would be playing on a loop in the White House screening room. Strange days in 1985, even stranger days in 2026.
Rocky III
Stallone’s third Rocky film is where the formula that would define it and IV fell into place. The film’s star seemingly wrote both films as follows: Important character dies; Rocky takes on a seemingly unstoppable force; training montage galore with a dubious rock & roll soundtrack; Rocky overcomes all odds and wins; get in and out quick. Of course, the formula worked both times. The first two Rocky films were a modest response to the auteur era of the ‘70s. Whereas filmmakers like Coppola, Friedkin, and Scorsese looked under the hood of America, unafraid to share what they might find, the first two Rocky films had a touch of Brando in On the Waterfront, but were far more sentimental and crowd-pleasing.
To put it another way, if Stallone had been the driving force behind the Brando film, Brando’s Terry Malloy would not only have been “a contender,” but a champion and gotten the girl to boot. But, you know, with a touch of the hardscrabble to go with its uplift. Rocky III & IV lacked even that much commitment. Starting with Rocky III, our hero goes from a doughy guy down on his luck to a chiseled (steroids work, folks) statue (literally and figuratively) with a massive house and a robot waiter (no sh*t). Burgess Meredith supplies the death in the film as Rocky’s trainer Mickey. Just before taking to the ring to face the ferocious Clubber Lang, played by Mr. T (“PAIN!”), Mickey suffers a coronary and dies shortly after Lang knocks an in-shock Rocky out in the third round.
With Mickey gone, Rocky needs a new trainer. Enter, or rather, re-enter, Carl Weathers as Apollo Creed, who changes up Rocky’s methods and even teaches him how to dance (again, no shit). The chemistry between Weathers and Stallone is fabulous, and their bromance is the strongest part of the film. Although, considering how things turned out for Rocky’s trainers in III & IV, applicants may have wanted to think twice in the future. At any rate, Rocky III works much the same way as Rocky IV. We love the character, we love the training scenes, we hate the opponent, and we love the outcome of the final fight. The only aspect of Rocky III that sets it apart from Rocky IV is the jingoistic stupidity. Hence, III’s placement just ahead of IV.
Creed 2
Sometimes a good sequel ends up being seen as the runt of the litter, especially if the first and third films in the (rebooted) series are even better. Such is the case for Creed II. Yes, the second film does occasionally fall into the trap of familiarity, but Grace notes abound. Adonis Creed and Bianca’s relationship shows genuine growth. Their handling of their daughter’s hereditary deafness is serious, sensitive, and respectful. Stallone and Michael B. Jordan continue to have great chemistry as family, trainer, and fighter. While Stallone only had input on the first Creed film, here he is a co-screenwriter, and the benefit of that input is most evident in the scene at Rocky’s restaurant between “Rock” and his former nemesis, Ivan Drago (role reprised by Dolph Lundgren).
The “big fight” in Creed II is between Adonis and Viktor, Drago’s son (played by Florian Munteanu), which, of course, adds an element of revenge to the film. Thankfully, the revenge-through-progeny plotline takes some surprising turns. That restaurant scene between Stallone and Lundgren is subtle, sad, and elegantly weary—it’s easily the best work of Lundgren’s life. And for all the pre-fight nastiness between the Creed and Drago sons, the fight sequence itself keenly avoids echoing the Apollo / Ivan fight from so many years ago.
Throw in some terrific training sequences in the desert, solid direction from Stephen Caple Jr., and a sneaky expansion of Wood Harris’ role as the son of Apollo’s trainer Duke (played by the late Tony Burton), and you have a worthy and entertaining sequel.
Rocky Balboa
After the bitter taste of Rocky V, Stallone wanted a do-over for the Italian Stallion he created. X years after V, Stallone returned with this heartfelt take on loss, withering fame, and a palooka’s effort to live out the rest of his life in some semblance of peace. With Adrian, Paulie, Mickey, and Apollo gone, and Rocky estranged from his son, the main theme of Rocky Balboa is loneliness. Rocky has a small Italian (naturally) joint that keeps him busy, and when he goes home at night, his two turtles, Cuff and Link, are the only living reminders of the life he once had. Of course, this being a Rocky movie, there has to be a fight.
The current heavyweight champ (played decently by Antonio Tarver) wants to face the old champion in an exhibition match (a sort of cinematic precursor to Jake Paul vs. Mike Tyson) with the Rock. Not surprisingly, Rocky is reluctant to face the press, get back into the ring, and dive into the hoopla of professional boxing. Of course, he does, but the outcome of the fight isn’t what matters in Rocky Balboa. What always defined Rocky is his willingness to try. Winning is trying, no matter what the judges say. In that way, Rocky Balboa neatly ties itself back to the original film. The final shot of the film is a blurred-out Rocky waving goodbye from the graveyard where Adrian is buried. It’s a lovely swan song for the character, and a presumptive end to the series of films. But who knew there would be more life in the old fighter yet?
Creed III
Creed III is when Michael B. Jordan’s Adonis Creed fully steps out of the shadows of his father and trainer. The third film in the Rocky-rebooted Creed series, for better or worse, doesn’t have Stallone on screen at all. In fact, there are just a few references to him in the film. While Rocky might not be dead (we are told he is spending time with family), Stallone’s absence is felt, even if Creed III is stronger than the film it follows. The real reason there’s no sign of Rocky Balboa in the film is that Stallone bailed out of the picture over ye olde “creative differences.” For a sense of how significantly Stallone’s connection to the Creed films deteriorated, one should watch the recent documentary on Stallone, Sly, which does not mention the Creed films once, even as it covers the breadth of his career.
At any rate, Jordan proves that Adonis Creed can carry the film without Rocky. Jordan’s direction is sharp; he has his own role down pat; Tessa Thompson is lovely as his deaf wife; and, most significantly, Jonathan Majors is a formidable adversary for the champ. Majors plays Damian Anderson, a former friend of Creed’s whose life went down the wrong path, and he blames the champ for leaving him behind. While Jordan may be playing a character named Adonis, it is Majors who is built like one. His Damian is not just seething with anger and charisma; he looks like a human wrecking ball. After only one fight, Damian gets a shot at Creed’s title. One could argue that the turn of events is silly, but in the current era of boxing, where hype and dog-and-pony shows rule, Damian’s quick title shot is no crazier than UFC fighter Conor McGregor getting a title match against Floyd Mayweather in his first professional fight as a boxer.
More importantly, Jordan and Majors have outstanding chemistry, and the pain of their lost friendship is real. Jordan shares plenty of screen time with Majors and lets his acting partner carry much of the weight in the film. It’s a generous move by Jordan, and it plays to the film’s favor. The viewer cares about both men, even if Adonis holds the bulk of our rooting interest.
Creed III doesn’t skimp on the relationship between Adonis and his now wife, Bianca (Tessa Thompson). Bianca is not just playing “the wife.” Thompson and Jordan’s scenes with their deaf daughter are thoughtful, natural, and lovely. Creed III is a complete movie. More than that, what Creed III accomplishes is no small feat: It’s a Rockyless Rocky film that proves Jordan and Adonis Creed can stand on their own.
Rocky
I can hear it now: “What the hell do you mean the first film isn’t number one?! How many times have you been hit in the head?!”
I’m just going to have to ask you to stay with me here. It is no slight to the beloved original to place it in this slot. But just because you’re first doesn’t mean you’re best. Rocky is a terrific underdog story, and Stallone’s own account of how he got the film to the screen is equally extraordinary and will be played out on screen later this year in the biopic I Play Rocky.
Famously, the then financially destitute (all of $106 to his name) Stallone wrote the screenplay for Rocky in three and a half days. Stallone took his inspiration from Chuck Wepner, a journeyman fighter who got an unlikely shot at the title against Muhammad Ali in 1975. Known as the “Bayonne Bleeder” for his New Jersey roots and propensity to bleed all over the ring, the badly overmatched Wepner nearly went the full 15 rounds against “The Greatest” before the referee mercifully stopped the fight. Wepner even scored a knockdown of Ali in the ninth, although replays showed that the challenger had stepped on the champ’s foot before Ali went down.
After submitting the script to the studios, Stallone was offered $360,000 for his screenplay. He turned them down. Why? Because they didn’t want Stallone to play Rocky. They wanted a star. Names like James Caan, Ryan O’Neal, and Burt Reynolds were bandied about, but Stallone held firm. He said, “I am Rocky,” according to legend. Chertoff-Winkler Productions said, “Fine,” here’s a budget of $1.1 million…for the entire film. Stallone’s Rocky gamble is one of the greatest in film history. The film grossed an astonishing $225 million, received ten Oscar nominations, and won Best Picture over All The President’s Men, Taxi Driver, and Network. In every way, from the script to the casting, to the box office, to the awards, and to history, Rocky is one of the most unlikely successes in the history of cinema.
So, why do I have it ranked third? For all the emotional impact, Bill Conti’s soaring score, the lived-in performances of Stallone, Burgess Meredith, Talia Shire, Burt Young, and (especially to my mind) Carl Weathers, and John G. Avildsen’s sturdy direction, the overt sentimentality of the script, and the, at times, unmissable budget shortage (especially in the final fight scene at the Spectrum where the audience is clearly made up of tens of people, not thousands) are ever so slight demerits. More notably, the screenplay plays into the notion of “The Great White Hope.”
After Ingemar Johansson lost his title in a 1960 rematch with Floyd Patterson (one year after scoring a huge upset over Patterson), there was not a single white heavyweight champion during the entirety of the ‘60s and ‘70s. The desire among a certain segment of the population to end the reign of Black dominance at the highest level of boxing was very real. From stripping Ali of his title in 1967, to promoting heavyweight fights along racial lines when Black and White fighters were pitted against each other, to elevating fighters like Wepner, Jerry Quarry, and Joe Bugner to questionable title shots, many white boxing fans wanted to see a white man raise the belt after beating a Black man.
How intentionally Stallone played into the “Great White Hope” phenomenon is up for debate, but it’s impossible to believe the film didn’t benefit from it. To this day, I’m always stunned by the number of people who think Rocky won the fight over Weathers’ Apollo Creed (based not so loosely on Muhammad Ali). The secret weapon of the first Rocky movie is that Rocky may not have become the champ, but he won something greater than a fight. He won self-respect. But to many white moviegoers and fight fans, they finally got their white champion—if only in their minds. Is it fair to knock the film, ever so slightly, for being a product of its time? Perhaps, but the older I get, the more obvious and unseemly that aspect of the film feels. Even so, the best parts of the film cover up many a sin. It may be hard to believe it now, but Stallone’s performance was spoken of (in 1976, anyway) as being Brandoesque. It’s not an entirely unfair comparison. Stallone melds with the character so fully that, even after his future success in the Rambo films, Rocky remains his most singular touchpoint.
Beyond its star, Talia Shire is entirely convincing in the “ugly duckling” to swan role as Rocky’s love interest, Adrian. Burt Young, as Adrian’s miserable brother Paulie, boldly leans into the grotesquerie of a man who knows he’s beaten by life, but can’t stop making it worse. In the history of boxing movies, no one is more synonymous with the “grizzled trainer” role than Burgess Meredith. All four of those actors earned Oscar nominations. However, the one main actor in the cast who didn’t get a nod from the Academy, Carl Weathers, is the key to the film. It would have been easy to make Apollo Creed an easy villain, but Weathers never allows that to happen. Sure, he gives a charismatic performance as a champ with a sizable ego, but he also taps into Creed’s insecurities that hide behind the bravado. Apollo Creed is a far more vulnerable man than he wants anyone around him to believe. The audience can sense that, too. You might not always like what Apollo does and says, but you can’t hate him. Hell, you can’t even dislike him.
Of course, the final fight in the film is a make-or-break moment. While you would be hard-pressed to call the depiction of the bout “realistic,” it’s hyperrealism and the sense of pain and suffering that fighters go through over fifteen rounds resonates fully. For all its faults as a film, Rocky undeniably delivers the goods, launching a soon-to-be-over-50-year cinematic saga. It all started here.
Rocky II
It may seem counterintuitive to rank the first Rocky sequel over the original, but here we are. Rocky II represented the point when Stallone completely took over the franchise. Stallone not only wrote and starred in Rocky II but also directed the film. After the massive success of the first film, Stallone was given a budget seven times that of the original, and he made full use of it. Rocky II feels wider in scope, while still maintaining the Philly neighborhood feel of the first film.
What’s particularly outstanding in the second film is the depiction of the post-career athlete. Thanks to a huge payday from his first fight with Creed, Rocky Balboa comes into the kind of money he has never known. The history of highly paid athletes who go broke is voluminous, and Rocky II shows you why. Rocky buys a huge new house, a ridiculous cobra jacket, and a fancy muscle car. He spends and spends because he thinks the money will never run out. How could it? To a man like Rocky, it’s a lot of money. He is also in demand as a pitchman, but his lack of loquacity during a commercial shoot leads to an embarrassing outcome. While attempting to hawk a “manly” aftershave, Rocky, dressed in a caveman outfit and holding a club, freezes up, flubs his lines, and is taken to task by the director. It’s a degrading, painful-to-watch scene that speaks to the inability of so many athletes to conjure up a third act in life after their performing days are over.
Typically, there are two reasons a fighter returns to the ring after retirement: Because they miss it, or because they are broke. Sometimes, it’s both of those things. For so many fighters, there’s nothing else. Getting in the ring is where they feel alive, even if the punishment they endure is killing them. It’s also the only place in the world that they can make a real buck. Rocky fits the cliché, and that’s not an insult to the film or the character. Clichés exist for a reason: because there is truth in them. The story of Rocky Balboa may be familiar, but it is well told, even wrenching. When Rocky climbs the stairs to Mickey’s walk-up apartment and is rejected by his old trainer, who slaps him on the left side of his face to prove to the fighter that he can’t see the punches coming, it’s the most brutal moment of the movie, even including Rocky’s grueling rematch with Apollo that closes the film.
Rocky II does stack the emotional deck more than a bit. Especially when a very pregnant Adrian returns to work at the pet store she thought she left behind, and then collapses into a coma. As Rocky sits by her bedside, unwilling to train or even see his emergency-delivered son without a conscious Adrian, it’s clear that Stallone is shamelessly tugging at the audience’s heartstrings. When Adrian wakes, and Rocky says he will quit fighting, cancel the rematch, do anything Adrian asks, she responds with just one request: “Win.” She tells him to win. Mickey shouts “What are we waitin’ for!” and the montage scene begins, the Conti score is cued up, and, well, it’s all over but the shouting.
The final battle between Rocky and Apollo is everything the fight in the first film was and more. The only difference is this time. Rocky wins. An outcome more believable in the second film than it would have been in the first. Styles make fights, they say, and a relentless come-forward bruiser who won’t stay down is a dangerous fighter for Apollo Creed. Despite all of Creed’s skill and power, Rocky has his number. No one believes that Joe Frazier was a more talented fighter than Muhammad Ali, but no one took more from Ali than Frazier. That type of dynamic plays out between Rocky and Apollo. The upset may be unlikely, but it isn’t unconscionable.
Still, what matters most about Rocky II is what happens before Balboa and Creed get into the ring. The strife isn’t just on Rocky’s side; it’s on Creed’s, too. Apollo may be set for life financially, but his reputation and body have taken a hit since the first fight. He is seen as a lucky man who barely survived the first fight. Some even believe he didn’t win. Creed needs to get back into the ring to reclaim his legacy. As terrific as Weathers was at illuminating Apollo’s insecurities in the first film, he goes even deeper here. Apollo Creed hurts all those around him by goading and eventually convincing Rocky into a rematch. He’s past his peak, and their first fight lives in his head, rent-free. Champions are used to being chased, but Rocky II inverts and subverts that rationale. In Rocky II, Creed is Ahab, and Balboa is the whale. That’s some surprisingly heady drama for a crowd-pleasing sequel.
Creed
It should have been a fool’s errand. The very idea of rebooting the Rocky franchise after Stallone brought it to a handsome close with Rocky Balboa strikes as a foolhardy endeavor. Then, to take that franchise, gently wrest it from the standard-bearer, introduce a new character with a legacy-laced backstory, and not even use the name Rocky in the title? Madness.
But that is exactly what writer/director Ryan Coogler did. Teaming back up with Michael B. Jordan, the lead from his first film, the great Fruitvale Station, Coogler wrote and directed Creed—one of the most unlikely franchise relaunches since they’ve been relaunching franchises. The studio was smart to hedge its bets and secure Stallone’s return. To pass the baton, the previous runner has to complete the handoff, and Stallone’s reprise of the character is downright elegant, resulting in what may be the best performance of his career, as an older, even more resigned Balboa, who comes back to life through the son of his greatest opponent.
Coogler proved no dummy by requesting and incorporating Stallone’s input on the screenplay. It might be a bit much to call Creed a feat of alchemy, but if it is, it is only just. It certainly helped that Michael B. Jordan fit the role of Apollo Creed’s illegitimate son so well. With no lack of charisma, a remarkably athletic physique, and an expressive face that let you into Adonis Creed’s inner pain, Jordan was the perfect choice to pick up the mantle of Creed and Rocky.
Coogler’s film doesn’t just rely on the relationship between Adonis and Rocky, but it is obviously the key to the movie. Jordan and Stallone share excellent chemistry, and the often unspoken affection between the two men, at opposite ends of their lives, is deeply felt throughout the film. Without their partnership, Creed would not have worked. But it also would not have worked so well without Tessa Thompson as Creed’s love interest, Bianca. She is very much her own woman. Bianca has a burgeoning music career, but also real concerns of her own. Namely, that she is slowly losing her hearing; it’s a credit to Coogler’s screenplay that Bianca is such a fully formed character. Even more surprising is how terrific Phylicia Rashad is as Apollo Creed’s widow, Mary Anne. Known predominantly for playing Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show, Rashad gives a graceful performance as a woman who takes in the “love child” of her husband.
It must also be stated how boldly Black Creed is. Stallone’s Rocky gets plenty of run in the film, but Creed is predominantly a story about the young man who bears the name in the title. A young Black man from a broken home who learns to accept love and help from others despite his self-destructive instincts. So often, we have been told that the greatest crisis in the Black community is the lack of fathers in their children’s lives. Creed does not make the mistake of turning Rocky into a pure father figure—he’s more of a found uncle (Adonis affectionately calls Rocky “Unc”). While there’s no denying a sense of surrogacy in their relationship (especially considering Rocky is estranged from his son), if anything, Creed is a movie about a man whose greatest support comes from two women. Two Black women. Creed may be intended as a crowd-pleaser for Rocky film fans and the general public, but it’s quietly subversive in recasting the story of a white guy from Philly as that of a Black guy from Los Angeles.
It must also be said that Creed is, by some distance, the best-directed film in the franchise. The motorcycle wheelies in the Philly streets, a nearly four-minute one-shot during a fight, Creed’s run through the streets that ends with him flexing and shouting to the sky, and the withholding of Bill Conti’s iconic score until just the right moment all result in a soaring film that may rest upon the shoulders of an iconic character, but is bold and great enough to create a new icon that can stand shoulder to shoulder with Rocky Balboa.
Now that I think about it, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it did require alchemy because Creed is pure movie magic, and the best film in a venerable franchise.
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