Rocky Balboa

If you hate all the other Rocky films, humanity in general, cream-coloured ponies and crisp apple strudle, chances are, you may still find a special place in your heart for Sylvester Stallone’s sixth outing as the loveable Philadelphia lummox. 17 years after the franchise came to an ignominious end with the unlovely Rocky V, Rocky Balboa puts the fighter where he belongs – back in the ring facing down impossible odds. Hooray.
That ‘hooray’, let’s be clear, is not borne from the same smart-alec, po-mo archness that might allow one to openly adore Sly end the Cold War in the splendidly visceral Rocky IV. The new film is a much grittier creation. Harking back to the dirty steadicam of the original, this is a folk tale, a Springsteen song. Opening scenes depict our hero mourning his late wife Adrian (Talia Shire). Her brother Paulie (Burt Young) is still packing meat at the plant and scowling at anything that moves. Rocky Jr. (Milo Ventimiglia) is trying to make it as a corporate suit but even in this foreign sphere finds himself overshadowed by his father’s legend. Rock himself has become a tragic, though noble figure shuffling around the old neighbourhood and telling ancient stories at his own restaurant in South Philly, a sort of good twin for the bloated, smut-peddler we see at the end of Raging Bull.
Happily, our hero is bowed but has lost none of his simple humanity. He strikes up a platonic relationship with a bartending single mom (Belfast actress Geraldine Hughes in an excellent performance) and her streetwise charge. He rescues a dog from the local animal shelter. He dispenses savant though sage advice urging others to take care and take heart. Long before we learn that the film will climax with an exhibition match against Cribs-era heavyweight champion Mason Dixon (Tarver), Rocky Balboa is fighting the good fight with a reassuring dough of wild optimism, by-the-bootstraps can-do and genuinely touching drama.
An underlying goofy nostalgia only adds to the buzz. Here comes the montage. Here comes Bill Conti’s ‘Gonna Fly Now’. Here comes Cuff and Link, the turtles from the 1976 picture back for a final bow. In what may well be the warmest use of pastiche in history, the final credits play over images of YouTubers running up what have come to be known as the Rocky Steps at the front of Philadelphia’s Museum Of Art.
Even a factory robot arm will want to leave the theatre punching the air and humming the theme for days. Simply the best resurrection since Jesus.