To celebrate the release of Rocky Balboa, we decided to launch a series devoted to our favourite films starting with Rocky III. If you haven't seen the film, stop reading now, unless you want to ruin it.
Arguably the most popcorn fun instalment of the Rocky franchise, the third film sees Rocky at the height of his fame and fortune riding high at the top of his game. Finding time for charity events, riding a tasty bike, driving a tasty car...life is good for the Italian Stallion. However, it's clear that something's bound to go awry for Rock and it does as a big Mr. T shaped obstacle arrives in the form of Clubber Lang. As Rocky's old trainer Mickey drops the bombshell that he's been protecting the Italian Stallion by arranging easy bouts, it's up to the big lug to prove his self-worth by defeating the vicious Clubber. Thing is, Rock doesn't appreciate the drive and ambition of the challenger. He trains in a noisy, disco pantomime of a gym, revelling in the 80's excess of his success. Meanwhile, Clubber trains hard, grunting "oouungh!!" a lot, while Rocky signs autographs and generally ponces about.
An embarassing first confrontation sees Rocky underestimating his opponent and eating canvas in just 3 rounds. Slow, clumsy, doughy, crap...Rocky's got a lot of work to do: we need a montage.
First, the Stallion has a few demons to confront. For the first time he's afraid, filled with self-doubt and without Mickey, who kicks the (spit) bucket, he enlists the help of former rival Apollo Creed. Rocky learns how to move faster, more fluidly and he begins to look like a real fighter, not a flabby slugger. His hair looks great too, particularly in the slow-mo sequences, immaculately coifed and immovable: it's beautiful. So too is Apollo's perfectly rounded 'fro, complemented wonderfully by an unmistakably 80's crop-top and hot pants. Such sartorial elegance roots Rocky III firmly in it's time, it's an 80's movie and there's absolutely no doubt about it. It's because of these elements that the training sequences endure in the memory, they're gloriously over-the-top, providing some great air-punching moments. Yeah!
When the final bout comes about, you know the outcome already, but the joy comes from watching the Stallion mash up his opponent as he dances around him like a butterfly, stinging like a bee. You'll be chanting 'Rocky! Rocky! Rocky!' without even realising it.
Rocky III is the very definition of a celluloid guilty pleasure: stupid (that fight with Hulk Hogan), short, punchy and predictable but no less life-affirming, moving and dramatic. An unsung masterpiece.
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