Rocky

Rocky holds up extraordinarily well.

If you haven’t seen Rocky in a while, you may recall it as a boxing movie.  It’s much more than that, however: it’s the American dream in an hour and a half.  It’s a story about a guy gets his shot and makes the most of it.  It’s a story about compassion, perseverance, and character.  It’s story about finding one’s lodestone.  It’s brilliant.

You know how it goes: Rocky, a semi-pro boxer, works as a small-time collector for a small-time loan shark in hard-times Philadelphia.  Rocky isn’t a very good collector because he lets people off the hook.  He isn’t a very good boxer because nobody has ever taken him under wing and given him the training he needs.  He isn’t good at much, but he is good hearted.  When champion Apollo Creed needs to find a last-minute substitute for an injured opponent, he hits on the idea of fighting a Philadelphian for the bicentennial.  He chooses Rocky based on a one-paragraph description in a boxing digest and offers him the gig.  Rocky thinks he’s being offered a job as a sparring partner.  When he learns that this is a real shot, he takes it.  Cue the training montage.

And it’s great and it’s fabulous and it’ll make your four-year-old try to do one-armed pushups.  But there’s something happening in Rocky to set it apart from other sports fantasy movies.  First, there’s Rocky’s budding relationship with Adrian, the mousy spinster who works at the local pet shop.  Adrian isn’t the beautiful girlfriend of an evil opponent.  Adrian is a delicate shoot whom Rocky cultivates into a magnificent flower, just as Rocky cultivates his opportunity to do something with his life.  Second, there’s Apollo Creed, the Champ.  Apollo isn’t a cruel villain from Conflict 101.  He’s decent and smart and dedicated.  Sure, he treats Rocky lightly – who wouldn’t, in his position?  But the fact that he isn’t a moustache twirler makes Rocky’s story one about overcoming life’s restrictions, not overcoming one man.  Third, there’s Philadelphia itself, a mighty and historic city whose days of industrial-age dominance are long behind it.  We identify not only with underdog Rocky, but with underdog Philly.  It dreams of something better, and perhaps it can make its dreams come true.

These elements work together to make Rocky more than just another aspirational story about an underdog fighting a villain and getting a girl.  They make Rocky universal and inspirational, giving it a power that transcends its era.  The make Rocky about the American dream of finding something within oneself that extends one’s reach, firms one grip, makes the impossible possible.  Rocky isn’t just a boxing movie.  Rocky is a classic.

Batman

So there I am on the couch, a two-year-old balanced on my forehead and an eight-year-old sitting on my chest, while "Batman" plays in the background. It hurts. "How did I get myself into this?" I think. Then Lee Meriwether, in a corset-tight catsuit, comes slinking onto the screen. "Oh, yeah. That's how."

Not that the feature-length "Batman" is only about Lee Meriwether in a corset. It also features Riddler Frank Gorshin in a girdle, though he chooses to wear his on the outside of his costume. And then there's Cesar Romero's Joker, who can't be bothered to shave his moustache, so he simply applies his white makeup over it in hopes that no one will notice. But the king of 'em all is clearly the fabulous Burgess Meredith as Penguin, who manages to simultaneously act his pants off _and_ ham it up, all while having a wonderful time.

And "Batman" feels like a wonderful time. There's a scene in which Robin says something like, "Why'd you save that bar full of drunks, Batman?" Batman replies, "They may be drunks, Robin, but they can still be redeemed." I know, I just _know_, that, at that moment, the cast and crew hoisted a round of frothy mugs at their screening (and kept raising them well into the night). This movie is so silly, so joyfully, gleefully campy, that you can't help but think it was as much fun to make as it is to watch. And who carries it? Yep, Adam West and Burt Ward as Batman and Robin. God bless 'em: they're terrible actors, but they're game for anything. No matter how ridiculous the scene, these ultimate squares keep their heads up and refuse to wink at the camera. Of course, their earnest delivery makes things all the sillier.

But silliness alone isn't enough to sell a movie. "Batman" is serious about some things, and it displays a level of craft I certainly did not expect. The bright, cartoonish color palette is both visually pleasing and remarkably consistent. The costuming, lighting, and sound are crisp and professional, even if jarring uses of stock footage of things like Polaris missiles sometimes throws things off. The Blu-Ray edition of this film really shines, and I've got to admit that it was a pleasure to watch.

I fired up "Batman" so my older boy would finally get all the "Batman" references in 'Sponge Bob Square Pants' and 'The Fairly Oddparents.' I never dreamed I'd actually get an enjoyable movie, in the process. Good for you, Batman!

Rocky II

I saw ROCKY II again.

You know what stood out for me this time? The absolute brilliance of Conti's score. It starts out '70s-funky, then goes all high-Rocky classical during the montage, then seamlessly blends into the tune on his baby's new mobile, then brings in the Wagnerian sensibility during the climactic bout. It is absolutely brilliant, and it makes me want to buy the soundtrack. As long as they leave out Frank Stallone.

As for the rest of the film, it's a bummer for the first two acts, but the third is so uplifting that it makes up for it. Here's the deal: Rocky blows through his fight money in no time, and, before he knows it, he's just another unemployed mook with a baby on the way. Meanwhile, Apollo needs to redeem his performance in his previous fight, and he tries to lure Rocky back into the ring. Rocky demurs and opens a dairy farm in the Swiss Alps.

Just kidding. You know what happens. But it's good stuff, everyone loves those iconic steps, and Stallone knows how to put together a fight scene. And if that doesn't work for you, you can always close your eyes and just listen to the soundtrack. A person can do worse for a couple of hours.

The Manitou

Some movies are simply bad, some are horribly bad, and some are delightfully bad. 1978's THE MANITOU, starring Tony Curtis as a sham psychic and Susan Strasberg as a topless, psychic, evil-immortal-medicine-man battler, is wonderfully, delightfully bad in nearly every way. It embraces its profound badness, has great fun with it, and invites us to join in. Depending on your mood at the time of viewing, you're bound either to enjoy the heck out of it or hit the "Stop" button about 15 minutes in. It's up to you.

Here's the setup: Curtis is a sham psychic, ripping off old ladies in San Francisco. He's living the good living, grooving to funk and drinking canned beer, when an old girlfriend (Strasberg) calls. She has a problem: there's a fetus growing in her back, and that can't be good.

Before he knows it, Curtis is interviewing Burgess Meredith (playing a guy who clearly study the script and is just ad-libbing his way through things) learning that said fetus is the reincarnation of the aforementioned evil, immortal medicine man. He's off to the reservation to find another medicine man to help him out, then it's back to the hospital, where Strasberg is giving back-birth to a midget in a rubber suit. From there, well, all I can say is that there are some movies that make me wish I did drugs. I have difficulty imagine how much better Topless Strasberg mentally battling Rubber Suit Midget in space (space!) could be, but I can't watch that scene and not think that it wasn't made for mushrooms.

So: THE MANITOU. Nowhere near good, but actually quite fun. You could do worse.

PS If you watch this, be sure to watch the trailers first. They'll really put you in the mood.

Rocky III

You know the difference between a good friend and a great friend? A good friend gives you all the ROCKY movies for your birthday; a great friend gives you all the ROCKY movies, minus ROCKY V, for your birthday.

ROCKY III has a great beginning: we start with the opening bars of the Bill Conti anthem, then segue into "Eye of the Tiger" for the opening montage that tells us what Rocky's been up to. "Eye of the Tiger" is perfect for dancing with a baby, and it's so catchy that my older boy has been making, "Dvvt. Dvvvvt dvvvvt dvvt." noises for the last three days. ROCKY III is slicker than the two previous entries in the franchise, and this works as a reflection of Rocky's new, slicker life. He's on the covers of magazines. He has a custom tailor and a nice house. He looks like a body builder and not a power lifter. He thinks he has it all together, but Mickey knows better: he's lost his hunger.

Enter Mister T as Clubber Lang, easily the best of Rocky's opponents. He's dedicated, he's tough, he's mean, and he gives the greatest pre-fight interview imaginable:
"What's your prediction for the fight?"
"My prediction?"
"Yes, your prediction."
(Looks into camera)
"Paaaaiiiiinnnnnn!"
Man, I had to rewind that twice.

The film takes us through a crisis of confidence, a training montage that is absolutely out of this world, and an extraordinarily well-choreographed final bout that's a masterpiece of choreography, cinematography, editing, and sound design. If real boxing was half as exciting as a ROCKY movie, I'd watch it all the time.