Rocky III (1982)

directed by Sylvester Stallone

Sean Mills

Rocky III is one year younger than me. Not the character of Rocky Balboa, born in 1945, one year before actor and creator Sylvester Stallone was born, in 1946. I was born a year after the film Rocky III came out, and Rocky took some time and access to television broadcasts and later DVD transfers before I could get it.

In the 1981 film, Rocky Balboa wins the Heavyweight Championship against Apollo Creed and transforms his life from the events of the first movie in the franchise, Rocky, released in 1976. The loveable and flawed character seemingly now has everything (a family, money, fame, and respect) after having nothing, and it goes from there (losing it all and coming to terms with that).

Audiences, then and now, would understand that Rocky Balboa and Sylvester Stallone are an uncanny blending of character and creator. Rocky and Sly are probably equally recognizable as one-word nicknames, and the impact they have had on cinema has been incalculable. Their impact on me was similar. As a kid, I didn’t need to separate the two, and before the internet, I was free to form my own thoughts.

I think it must be pretty hard to have an authentic impression of what Rocky III may mean. The first layer to unwrap is that it is a sequel and a sequel to a sequel. If the movie Rocky III was on trial for murder, where could you possibly go to get an untainted juror pool? There are six main films, nine including the Creed films, which I do.

The franchise spans boxing history, from Rocky Marciano in the 1940s to 80 years later, when boxing was on the cusp of dying (removal as an Olympic sport, no longer sanctioned in college, not on TV, and becoming a celebrity sideshow).

I used to ask people as a conversation starter what Rocky movie their favorite was and then argue with them that they were wrong; it was actually Rocky III. A fun twist is that Michael B. Jordan continued the franchise, ultimately without Sylvester Stallone. The question stays relevant and maybe even more poignant with time.

The magic trick is that over time, so many elements of the Rocky series have blended into our collective unconscious, like a 14-hour training montage. Speaking of which, training on the beach? That’s Rocky III. Do you like that hit song “Eye of the Tiger,” by Survivor? That’s also Rocky III. Rocky III is also “the one” with Hulk Hogan, Mr. T, and Paulie’s Robot.

Rocky III and First Blood both came out in 1982 and redefined so many things. First of all, a key feature of both films is Sylvester Stallone’s body, sculpted now into a lean, muscular form that defined a canon for both film and the American psyche. Training with former boxer Franko Columbu (who also partnered with Arnold Schwarzenegger), Stallone was perhaps one of the first (male) Hollywood actors pushing the bounds of anorexia, eating burnt toast and drinking black coffee to craft an unnaturally striated and vascular figure. It’s hard to remember or even believe that while Stallone was growing up, people were still very undecided about the health value of lifting weights.

Christopher Reeves famously explained that before he was selected to play the lead in Superman: The Movie (1978) he had been repeatedly browbeaten by agents and managers to give up weightlifting.

Plotwise, Rocky III suggests that Rocky Balboa has become emotionally soft from success and becoming “civilized,” as evidenced by Balboa’s circus-like training camps, his extracurricular stunts (wrestling Thunderlips (Hulk Hogan) for charity), and even his ability to read properly and speak in a cogent manner. This all culminates in his fall to Clubber Lang (Mr. T), who epitomizes all the things he used to be and stands for, minus the heart of gold. Clubber even takes Rocky’s heart in the form of giving Mickey Goldmill (Burgess Meredith) a fatal heart attack moments before the opening bell.

Clubber is a Black man who “lives alone, trains alone, and wins the title alone”. A dark version of Rocky Balboa who trains hungrily for money and recognition the way Balboa once did. Of course, this echoes the real-life pattern of Black athletes taking up the torch from immigrant Jewish boxers (like Mick) and Italian boxers (like Rocky). Boxing is historically a brutal and unforgiving sport and therefore typically reserved for those with literally nothing else to try. Naturally, Rocky turns to another Black man, former rival Apollo Creed, to get his edge back. Creed, who is still hungry for relevance, agrees to Coach Rocky, taking him out of Philadelphia to Los Angeles, to the Black gyms Creed grew up in. We can easily chart the parallel for the character of Rocky, once a regional, local boy, like Stallone, who came to Hollywood and became a national and international star.

For most people, the indelible images of Rocky as a franchise happen here, on the beach as Balboa montages his way to beating Apollo Creed in a sandy foot race, but also a pivotal confrontation between Rocky and his wife Adrian (Talia Shire). Up until now, Rocky was a boxing match against Creed to prove that he deserved to be a contender, Rocky II was a battle to prove he could be a champion, and now Adrian’s previous valid concerns for her husband’s health give way to a greater fear. Rocky reveals that he is holding back because he’s afraid; he’s afraid to lose what he had, afraid to lose his reputation, and afraid of being a loser.

As Adrian helps Rocky accept that he won’t really lose anything (family, previous success) from another boxing loss, they are all ready for the final training montage and to set up the showdown.

Stallone intentionally mythologizes real boxing into a heightened fable version. He’s said as much. What this does is make it so stories that only might matter to fans of the sport or the individual athletes are now a story everyone can relate to and enjoy. I often hear people say “even when I don’t particularly like a sport, I can always watch a sports movie.” They take out the boring parts and amp up the dramatic parts, and it's fun and cathartic. The flip side to this is that it also is an entry point into the sport. That romance and excitement of the dramatized version is a way to start appreciating the real thing.

As a child, with limited access to information, these movies provided a template for real-life names of people, places, and fights that I could learn about in the pre-internet era. I would go on to look up books and watch old film reels digitized for broadcast on ESPN3. Would I have had a context for Rocky Graziano’s black and white trilogy with Tony Zale without Coach Mickey Goldmill’s parenthetical asides?

Rocky II has been around my entire life, but it’s been interesting to see how its context has changed over the years. As American culture has matured, the sincerity of the characters and the cinematography of the fight scenes have gone from idealistic to artifacts of the past. My appreciation for the film also evolves, from enjoying the action aspects to becoming a Stallone connoisseur. We don’t know exactly what will come next for the franchise as Michael B. Jordan and Irvine Winkler continue without the original star. However, Rocky III remains the quintessential Rocky movie and boxing film for me.

Sean Mills is a visual artist, writer, and art advocate living in Atlanta, Georgia. He has shown his award-winning work in Los Angeles and in the Atlanta area. He has written for online publications including CBS, Examiner, AXS, Bad Left Hook, and presented lectures on art and design at Wake Forest University, the Museum of Design in Atlanta, and has been both designed print media for major national brands as well as covers for notable musical artists. Find him online at seanmillsartist.com.