Creed III (2023)

 ...

As I’ve previously written, one of the many sacred joys of Creed II is watching the (mostly visualized) journey of Ivan and Viktor Drago. Early on, Ivan is shown almost mowing Viktor down with his van if Viktor isn’t willing to run faster and train harder. Stakes are sky high and the air they breathe is poisoned by perfectionism. It’s not winning they care about, it’s (ice cold) destruction. So this makes it all the more powerful when Ivan later changes his heart and throws in the towel to save his son. Their final image shows them walking side-by-side, together. Ivan has learned from previous failure and rejection that it is not wise to repeat the traumatic past. Along with the other redemptive variations of Fathers/Sons happening in Rocky V & VI, Creed I & II, a true foundation has been laid for hope and reconciliation. And remember that’s already built on the strength of Rocky’s original lose to win (death & resurrection) formula.

So I obviously found it confusing when Donnie just simply walks away after defeating Damien. They have their “moment” after the fight, which wasn’t quite confession, nor forgiveness - but they both acknowledged their seeming powerlessness (“It ain’t on you”) and suggested bygones. Instead of reconciliation (showing them together, integrated, as Integration is part of shadow work), Donnie seems content to literally “rise up” and move away from this guilt, like he’s no longer concerned with it or Dame. Although this appropriately visualizes Donnie’s personal journey with past guilt, it also seems to genuinely dehumanize Damien, as if he was just a prop. Even so, some of this still works as Creed III carries on the tradition of visualizing mirrors and even deepens “the toughest opponent is yourself” credo as Dame obviously represents Donnie’s shadow. But their lack of togetherness, integration is disturbing to me for two reasons…

1. This reminds me ALOT of Coogler’s Black Panther (2018), another ending I struggled with. In fact you can clearly see that Black Panther’s approach to T’Challa/Killmonger is essentially overlaid with Donnie/Damien. Was this originally conceived as a Creed sequel by Coogler? Or did Coogler’s brother Keenan (screenwriter on Creed III) simply extract it cause he thought it worked? Not sure, but here were my feelings/thoughts about Killmonger back in 2018…

Killmonger is fatally wounded by Black Panther in the final moments after a long chaotic mess of a fight scene. T'Challa brings him to the summit and offers compassion & hope..."We can still heal you." Killmonger, assuming the worst, replies, "Why, so you can lock me up!?" This is a good, but ultimately cynical and insecure question. T'Challa is unfortunately not given a chance to answer. Killmonger goes on, "...Just bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from ships, 'cause they knew death was better than bondage." I can't argue with his ancestors, but why are the screenwriters so intent on Killmonger being imprisoned by his anger and rejecting reconciliation with his own people? Is he not more than his victimized narrative? What about listening, healing, forgiveness, empowerment? What is honorable about suicide? Is the audience supposed to empathize with this decision? I hope not. Sounds like sympathy at best. Worse still, T'Challa, who prevented Whitey Zemo's suicidal attempt (in CA Civil War) because "the living aren't done with you yet" is somehow indifferent to intervention here with his own cousin (who obviously cannot see beyond his own emotional wounds and doesn't have the spiritual maturity to choose life). Why the sudden apathy? How much more redemptive would it have been if Erik Killmonger was with T'Challa and Shuri in Oakland to begin work on their first outreach center? Full circle in his own neighborhood? Seems like a glaring omission.

2. In addition to this Killmonger trigger (which I’ll come back to), I anticipated a whole other kind of “final fight” after Donnie’s Mom, in her death scene, encourages Donnie to “find another way” with Damien. This is obviously a core emotional climax in the film, so by then I was prepared for some type of Nic Cage “Pig” situation to possibly happen. Also suggestive of this, was Bianca’s constant challenge throughout the whole movie (up to this point) for Donnie to talk about his feelings - and for their daughter to learn how to manage conflict without punching her mean girl classmates. So naturally I was super confused when Bianca so easily agreed with Donnie’s choice to fight Dame, “cause that’s the only way he’ll listen”. Um, okay. The story really needed Bianca to stand her non-violent ground and create some real tension here, potentially putting Donnie into a darker, more conflicted space, where the relationship itself is at risk - and where “finding another way” seems even more necessary. Y’all feel me??

While I believe that Damien is treated a bit better than Killmonger (low bar), I obviously don’t understand the resistance to bring these intentionally humanized “villains” out of the darkness and fully into the LIGHT. (If you have a perspective on this, I would love to hear it) Especially when the writers/directors set it up so well to subvert our “villain” expectations, but then somehow just confirm powerless traumatic stereotypes?? Why must the political and psychological trump the spiritual? Wakanda seems like a spiritual place with spiritual traditions, and the Rocky/Creed saga is eucharistic in formula - so what am I missing? 

Is Dame more than just Donnie's Shadow?

Intriguingly, I found myself more drawn to Damien (especially during the second watch), as his story is more in line with the Rocky underdog narrative. Especially now that Donnie is presented as the Ralph Lauren version of Apollo, with excessive wealth and comfort, finally living up to his unfortunate nickname, Hollywood (something Donnie powerfully resisted and put at risk in the first Creed). Dame’s a more complicated character who has love and trust for Donnie, despite the experience of rejection and resentment. It’s only his impatience that pushes him towards manipulation to get his shot - and you can see the disappointment on Dame’s face when Donnie doesn’t celebrate with him after he beats Felix. Donnie looks offended, but Dame just wants to be loved and celebrated - despite the ugliness. I can understand that better than Donnie’s plush life high up in the Hills. Similarly, I found Killmonger more interesting than T’Challa.

(I’m being hard on Donnie, but I did connect with his relationship with his daughter and family) 

To MBJ’s credit, the Dame/Felix fight is one of my favorites in the entire saga! Not so much the final fight (or training montage), however, even though I did greatly appreciate the cinematic expressiveness of it. But the “inner fight” took like ten rounds, leaving the whole twelve feeling very flat overall. As compared to the Felix fight, which felt sinister, tense, ugly, and surprising - the stakes ultimately felt very low for the last fight. And knowing that Rocky and Donnie used to basically get beaten to death in the final fight, why is Donnie barely scratched in this one? I don’t understand that either. But much of this would have been easier to forgive if defeat had not been the last word for Dame. Maybe it won’t be, and who knows what the future holds? (although I held the same question for Killmonger, and, well, you know) I know MBJ has plans to expand the “Creedverse” in any way he can, for better or worse. Unfortunately this leaves us, even now, feeling like Creed III was more of an episode instead of a movie (the end of a trilogy no less!). All I’m sayin’ is, please don’t make it easy for us to separate Rocky as “cinema” and Creed III as “content”. You know???? ✌️

...

Giant (1956)

…

Giant is even larger than you might imagine. It’s an incomparable addition to the Great American Epic movie playlist. It was much more honest than I expected, treating some of today’s most sensitive subjects with cleverity, humor, and uncompromising seriousness. Ultimately a wrestling match between three generations of tradition vs progress, I found Giant to be a mostly humanizing, hopeful work, yet quite politically subversive for it’s era (though obviously far from alone). Hudson, Taylor, and Hopper are all outstanding and perfectly cast. I’m already excited to revisit it again in the near future!

While all this is striking and worth a further deep dive, I’ve really only thought about one thing since I watched it five weeks ago.

James Dean.

 

I’ve seen the other two Dean films, but I’d held out on this. It’s a quirk of mine, but sometimes I won’t finish a good book because then it will be finished. Watching this movie means there are no more James Dean films to experience for the first time. Also, I wasn’t a fan of George Steven’s classic Western, Shane, so I felt resistant toward this 3 1/2 hour undertaking. But here we are, and there is really nothing quite like it. Nothing really like James Dean, his presence, various postures, glares, and complete unpredictability. I don't have the language for it, tbh, but I discovered a short essay from 1956, written by Francois Truffaut (student of Andre Bazin), called James Dean is Dead from his book The Films of My Life. Truffaut says, "With James Dean everything is grace, in every sense of the word." Below is a large chunk of the essay, and if you are a fan of Dean's work, you will appreciate it. Enjoy!

...  

“James Dean's acting flies in the face of fifty years of filmmaking; each gesture, attitude, each mimicry is a slap at the psychological tradition. Dean does not "show off" the text by understatement like Edwige Feuillère; he does not evoke its poetry, like Gérard Philipe; he does not play with it mischievously like Pierre Fresnay. By contrast, he is anxious not to show that he understands perfectly what he is saying, but that he understands it better than the director did. He acts something beyond what he is saying; he plays alongside the scene; his expression doesn't follow the conversation. He shifts his expression from what is being expressed in the way that a consummately modest genius might express profound thoughts self-deprecatingly, as if to excuse himself for his genius, so as not to make a nuisance of himself.

There were special moments when Chaplin reached the ultimate in mime: he became a tree, a lamppost, an animal-skin rug next to a bed. Dean's acting is more animal than human, and that makes him unpredictable. What will his next gesture be? He may keep talking and turn his back to the camera as he finishes a scene; he may suddenly throw his head back or let it droop; he may raise his arms to heaven, stretch them forward, palms up to convince, down to reject. He may, a single scene, appear to be the son of Frankenstein, a little squirrel, a cowering urchin or a broken old man. His nearsighted look adds to the feeling that he shifts between his acting and the text; there is a vague fixedness, almost a hypnotic half-slumber.

When you have the good luck to write for an actor of this sort, an actor who plays his part physically, carnally, instead of filtering everything through his brain, the easiest way to get good results is to think abstractly. Think of it this way: James Dean is a cat, a lion, or maybe a squirrel. What can cats, lions and squirrels do that is most unlike humans? A cat can fall from great heights and land on its paws; it can be run over without being injured; it arches its back and slips away easily. Lions creep and roar; squirrels jump from one branch to another. So, what one must write are scenes in which Dean creeps (amid the beanstalks), roars (in a police station), leaps from branch to branch, falls from a great height into an empty pool without getting hurt. I like to think this is how Elia Kazan, Nicholas Ray, and, I hope, George Stevens proceeded.

Dean's power of seduction was so intense that he could have killed his parents every night on the screen with the blessing of the snobs and the general public alike. One had to witness the indignation in the movie house when, in East of Eden, his father refuses to accept the money that Cal earned with the beans, the wages of love.

More than just an actor, James Dean, like Chaplin, became a personality in only three films: Jimmy and the beans and at the country fair, Jimmy on the grass, Jimmy in the abandoned house. Thanks to Elia Kazan's and Nicholas Ray's sensitivity to actors, James Dean played characters close to the Baudelairean hero he really was.

The underlying reasons for his success? With women, the reason is obvious and needs no explanation. With young men, it was because they could identify with him; this is the basis for the commercial success of his films in every country of the world. It is easier to identify with James Dean than with Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant, or Marlon Brando. Dean's personality is truer. Leaving a Bogart movie, you may pull your hat brim down; this is no time for someone to hassle you. After a Cary Grant film, you may clown around on the street; after Brando, lower your eyes and feel tempted to bully the local girls. With Dean, the sense of identification is deeper and more complete, because he contains within himself all our ambiguity, our duality, our human weaknesses.

Once again, we have to go back to Chaplin, or rather Charlie. Charlie always starts at the bottom and aims higher. He is weak, despised, left out. He fails in all his efforts; he tries to sit down to relax and ends up on the ground, he's ridiculous in the eyes of the woman he courts or in the eyes of the brute he wants to tame. What happens at this point is a pure gift: Chaplin will avenge himself and win out. Suddenly he begins to dance, skate, spin better than anyone else, and now he eclipses everyone, he triumphs, he changes the mood and has all the jeerers on his side.

What started out as an inability to adapt becomes super-adeptness. The entire world, everybody and everything that had been against him, is now at his service. All this is true of Dean, too, but we must take into account a fundamental difference: never do we catch the slightest look of fear. James Dean is beside everything; in his acting neither courage nor cowardice has any place any more than heroism or fear. Something else is at work, a poetic game that lends authority to every liberty even encourages it. Acting right or wrong has no meaning when we talk about Dean, because we expect a surprise a minute from him. He can laugh when another actor would cry - or the opposite. 

He killed psychology the day he appeared on the set.

With James Dean everything is grace, in every sense of the word. That's his secret. He isn't better than everybody else; he does something else, the opposite; he protects his glamour from the beginning to end of each film. No one has ever seen Dean walk; he ambles or runs like a mailman's faithful dog (think of the opening of East of Eden). Today's young people are represented completely in James Dean, less for the reasons that are usually given- violence, sadism, frenzy, gloom, pessimism, and cruelty than for other reasons that are infinitely more simple and everyday: modesty, continual fantasizing, a moral purity not related to the prevailing morality but in fact stricter, the adolescent's eternal taste for experience, intoxication, pride, and the sorrow at feeling "outside," a simultaneous desire and refusal to be integrated into society, and finally acceptance and rejection of the world, such as it is.

No doubt Dean's acting, because of its contemporaneous quality, will start a new Hollywood style, but the loss of this young actor is irreparable; he was perhaps the most inventively gifted actor in films.”

...

Highlights are mine.

Day of the Dead (1985)

 ...

Since watching Day of the Dead this past summer, I've kept coming back to two elements that seem to contradict each other in 2021, but maybe made sense in 1985 - a somewhat less (culturally) volatile, more optimistic decade. The first element is how “woke” Romero’s character structure is written. He essentially has an intelligent female lead supported by a clever black man, a sensitive Latino soldier, and three “allied” white dudes; a boozy Irish Catholic, constantly praying to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, along with two over-educated scientists, one of them referred to as Frankenstein. It's all of them versus a one dimensional group of dumb-ass white men, all of whom are racist, sexist, trigger happy military goons led by an evil, anti-science, tyrant commander. 

Not only does this reek of "all cops are bad", but Romero goes on to literally humanize the zombies more than these nazified military officers (a concept Guillermo Del Toro unfortunately plagiarizes in Shape of Water). Even the least bit of character development could have gone a long way to help the audience feel some tension - allowing us to experience the actual undead crisis they all face together. Regardless, it still works as an effective horror movie, if you don’t project Twitter onto it. And in 1985, Day of the Dead actually fits with the anarchist, Repo Man sentiment, which was subversive but also humorous, avoiding today's trendy self-righteousness. Not unifying, but not polarizing either. It had it's place. I can respect that.

The second element (What I loved about the film!), is Romero's surprisingly visualized spiritual journey into a missile silo military base, aka “the 14 mile tomb”. Letting go of the above 2021 political perspective, we simply follow four apocalypse survivors (in search of life) down into purgatory where time, space, and meaning become oblique. The walls of time are purposely eroded from the opening sequence. Are they restored at the end? Not necessarily. More to explore there, I think.

Later it is suggested by John (black man) that maybe "...we're bein' punished by the Creator. He visited a curse on us. So that man could look at...what Hell was like. Maybe He didn't want to see us blow ourselves up, put a big hole in the sky. Maybe He just wanted to show us He's still the Boss Man. Maybe He figure, we was gettin' too big for our britches, tryin' to figure His shit out." This heavily suggests an action or perspective of God from the Old Testament. John's recommendation to make babies also adds a "be fruitful and multiply" component found in OT Israel. In the larger picture, Jewish eschatology seems present in Romero's mind, which makes sense - since he has also created a Christ figure out of the Latino soldier, Miguel (whose name means "who is like God", according to Google). Miguel is the most sensitive/vulnerable character - prone to abuse and torture, often being comforted, protected, and cared for by Sarah. Miguel becomes a military defector and an agent of liberation theology - a not very subtle allusion to Central American politics in the 1980s that involved the US, particularly in El Salvador, where archbishop Óscar Romero was martyred towards the beginning of a decade-long, very bloody civil war. 

Miguel's eventual heroic act brings Óscar Romero (who was assassinated while serving communion) and Jesus together - as he goes above ground to release the zombie hoard, using himself as bait to bring them down into the silo to enact consequential justice against the evils of militarized narcissism. Traditional Catholicism believes that the Holy Eucharist (communion) isn't just a symbolic act of eating/drinking the consecrated body/blood of Christ, but a literal act. So when Miguel lays down on the elevator, the zombies are literally eating his flesh and blood as they go back down into Hell together. A Eucharistic sacrifice to be remembered!! (Phenomenal F/X makes this quite vivid)

While this is happening, Sarah, John, and the Irish Catholic dude knock off some zombies and eventually climb their way out of purgatory (great visual sequence). And Evil was conquered! Or at least confined. And if I'm reading the ending correctly, they arrive (symbolically resurrected) at an isolated paradise island that was earlier prophesied by John. Are they alive? or is this Heaven? a dream? I'm not sure - but wow! George Romero came heavy with the body, the blood, and the Bible in this one.

...

"Leave No Trace" (2018)

...

This critical review was published by The Porch Magazine. <===Click to read the whole article. Read an excerpt below...

"Leave No Trace (2018) directly counteracts George A Romero's popular, tweet ready quote; "I've always felt that the real horror is next door to us, that the scariest monsters are our neighbors." Much of the tension experienced in the film is the anticipation of such horror. The story follows recent war veteran Will (Ben Foster) and his thirteen year old daughter Tom (Thomasin McKenzie), living illegally, but efficiently on public land in Oregon. We journey with them after they are arrested by State authorities and put into a housing re-entry program. Because of Will's anxiety from Post Traumatic Stress, he and Tom leave their placement home, heading back into the cold, damp forest with very little. Throughout the film, they encounter park rangers, police dogs, social workers, church folks, empty train cabs, truck drivers, marginal communities, and even stay for a night in an isolated "cabin in the woods". At every plot turn, I wondered who would be the enemy, villain, or monster. Fascinating to me, none were to be found. Instead, Will and Tom were graciously offered various forms of hospitality and support. I discovered the suspense was only within. I had carried it into the theater with me."

Read more at The Porch!

...

The Rocky/Creed Saga (1976-2018)

...

Self-Reflection is threaded through the whole narrative: 

"That's the toughest opponent you're ever going to have to face" is the Rocky franchise Credo (Latin for Creed).

"All eight films remain firmly optimistic about relationships, life, and possibility. They are emotionally honest, frequently looking in the mirror."

After watching eight Rocky/Creed films over ten days, nothing stands out more than how affectionately these characters are written. They are deeply loved by the writers, actors, directors, and fans. Even when an episode is lacking (or just plain awful), characters like Paulie or Duke or Bianca can remind us why we are still watching. Every character has their own fight, contending with disabilities that often mirror our own. Taking the time to visualize these qualities is also a strength of the series. The streets, housing, gyms, stairways, pet shops, meat factories, ice skating rinks all reveal something of their inner lives. Paulie wears his emotional poverty, Adrian her shyness, Apollo his ego, Mickey his heart, Bianca her hearing loss. And of course, Rocky and Adonis are both clothed in their fear and insecurity, often looking both strong and weak in the same image. It seems impossible to disguise vulnerability in the Rocky universe.

"I'd like to kill the freaking guy who broke this mirror" says Paulie, himself fractured and sharp.

Each of these individual deficits are also opportunities for connection. Rocky defines it this way:

Paulie: [talking about Adrian] You like her?
Rocky: Sure, I like her.
Paulie: What's the attraction?
Rocky: I dunno... she fills gaps.
Paulie: What's 'gaps'?
Rocky: I dunno, she's got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps.

Thousands of books have been written on relationships and "intentional" community, but Rocky's summation doesn't require a PhD in idealism, only honest intuition. They meet each other's needs. It's how the characters survive, how they love, and why they fight. Through conflict, failure, forgiveness and grace, they become community, and eventually family. Even into the first Creed, "If I fight, you fight" becomes the mantra between Rocky and Adonis. Rocky wrestles through cancer, grief, and loneliness. Donny needs a trainer and a father figure to believe in him. Together they fill gaps.

All eight films remain firmly optimistic about relationships, life, and possibility. They are emotionally honest, frequently looking in the mirror. Whether a Rocky/Creed film was released in a cynical, optimal, or (currently) nihilistic era, they stay true to their humanity. The series never embraces self-pity politics, but holds securely to self-reflection (and maybe surprisingly to some, spirituality).

Resurrection Athletic Club

The first image we see in Rocky (1976) is a Christian icon of Jesus offering the Eucharist. The shot (above) pans down to a sluggish Rocky boxing with Spider Rico at the Resurrection Athletic Club in Philadelphia, PA. The image of Christ hovering over Balboa stands as a prophetic invocation. Rocky will soon learn to contend with possibility, mystery, and fantastic opportunity. Like Christ, he must suffer through the pain of being himself, sharing in communion with messy, imperfect folk who believe in him. From faith and blood comes his trial. One where true victory happens through losing. A baptism of sweat and determination purposed for connection, not conquest.

1 Corinthians 4 says "We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies." This reflects the Death & Resurrection of Christ in Balboa's "losing to win" theme. It's his "dark night of the soul" journey as populist formula. This dark night experience is found in many traditions, religious or otherwise, including modern Depth Psychology (Jung). Industrial and technological based cultures in the West often reject or resist this baptismal (dying to self) process, correlating with the rise of anxiety, depression, and mental health disabilities. This secularized resistance also exacerbates the breakdown of communal traditions, loss of elders, and modern mid-life crisis. Enter Rocky Balboa in 1976. "It’s no wonder Rocky won the 1976 Oscar over All the President’s Men, Network, Taxi Driver, and Bound for Glory — all liberal melodramas that expressed post-Vietnam, post–Civil Rights, post-Watergate cynicism. Rocky was the people’s candidate." (White) Maybe the people just needed a visceral reminder of the "knocked down, but not destroyed" narrative that still offered Hope through suffering.

This theme of death & resurrection became the essential Rocky formula/liturgy, where various forms of loss or losing must be experienced before any kind of winning can happen. In Rocky III, Clubber Lang tells everyone he is going to crucify Balboa. In Rocky Balboa (Rocky VI), his final fight is described as the last supper, with Spider Rico reading "It is not by strength nor by might, but by His Spirit that we have already claimed victory". In Creed II, Rocky takes Adonis to the desert for fasting and training (mirroring IV's wilderness). He tells him he must go through Hell (Apollo said the same to Rocky in part III) to be prepared for Viktor Drago. While running through the desert, Adonis collapses on the road, Rocky whispers "get up kid", and Donny dramatically rises. A baptism by fire.

Adonis in the desert, confronting his demons.

Stallone's Catholicism is ultimately more hopeful than the "Catholic Guilt" found in Hitchcock's "wrong man" theme or Scorsese's raging bull/gangster in turmoil. It's what allows his characters to expose their insecurities, confront their fears, and contend with something bigger than themselves. They are willing to look in the mirror. They are able to submit to forces they can't control. In Rocky II, Rocky spends most of his time chasing chickens or praying in hospitals. Mickey is impatient with both, but he has a great moment of fore-giveness with Rocky in the hospital chapel. He says, "This guy (Apollo) don't just wanna win, you know, he wants to bury ya, he wants to humiliate ya, he wants to prove to the whole world that you was nothin' but some kind of a freak the first time out. He said you were a one time lucky bum! Well now I don't wanna get mad in a biblical place like this, but I think you're a hell of a lot more than that kid! A hell of a lot! But now wait a minute, if you wanna blow this thing, if you wanna blow it, then damn it I'm gonna blow it with ya. If you wanna stay here, I'll stay with ya. I stay with ya. I'll stay and pray."

Mickey homilizing in the chapel.

Creed II offers a similar sentiment through Ivan & Viktor Drago. An unexpected surprise that I barely noticed the first time I saw it. After the second watch, I realized I wanted to see an entire film about the Drago saga. By sidestepping the current Trump era politics, the Dragos become real people. Their story plays quiet, told visually with emotional nuance seen mostly in their faces. [Spoiler] Though once designed to be superhuman, Ivan is now capable of making the regular human, empowered decision to "throw in the towel" (recalling and/or reconciling Rocky's regretful inaction from IV). This choice is layered with humility, grace, and forgiveness. It's his version of "if you wanna blow it, I'll blow it with ya". He doesn't leave Viktor's corner in shame. They stand together in their own "lose to win", rectified narrative.

Some of the Viktor Drago sequences in Kiev resembled Henry Cavill in "Man of Steel".
Strong visual literacy & direction. I definitely wanted more of those images.

This is an outstanding legacy created by Stallone & Coogler (cue Gonna Fly Now). Who knew the saga would continue on like Wu-Tang? Rocky & Creed have built a cinematic universe. For that I'm grateful. Apparently Stallone has said Creed II is his last rodeo, but I am inclined to be skeptical. Regardless, Michael B and crew are heavyweights themselves now, and I am already anticipating a Creed III. From early childhood I have watched these films with my father, and now with my own children. None of us are boxers, but we have our own battles. It helps to see them reflected on screen with such dynamism, character, and A-1 quality.

Ryan Coogler measures strength with vulnerability in Creed.

Definitive Ranking (Worst to Best):

8.Rocky V: My 6th Grade 1990 self thought this was the best Rocky. It had Tommy Gunn, Rocky Jr (the same age as me), the old neighborhood, and a Hip-Hop soundtrack with Hammer and Rob Base. (I had a walkman that automatically flipped the cassette. It played on repeat over several seasons of Super Tecmo Bowl that year.) It seemed like this was probably the last Rocky based on the Elton John Measure of a Man montage at the end. It was emotional, and I already loved feeling part of a legacy. So it's too effing bad that the movie is actually a disaster. It's undisciplined, overstuffed, poorly written, talks too much, lacks visual composition, and is generally off-balance. But it does have it's quotable moments, and a few building blocks for Balboa and Creed. (V is the first to reveal that Rocky grew up with out a father) Anyway, I'm glad the saga didn't end in '90, and I still enjoy the brief nostalgic feelings.

7.Rocky II: The first of the series that Stallone directed. Not sure if it was the new director or the new DP or both - but the disciplined, exceptionally composed images of Rocky I are nowhere to be seen. It feels more like '70s television than cinema, and it's too long. But it accomplishes it's goal, while building a deeper chemistry between Mickey and Rocky.

6.Creed II: For a film in the Trump era with a Black director, Black protagonist, and Russian villains, the narrative is refreshingly non-political. Choosing to focus on the characters and their relationships is the strength of the film, making me again wish the Dragos had their own movie. Overstuffed like V, but much more disciplined filmmaking. It pulls from at least three Rocky films, requiring more than one watch to appreciate. A great addition to the franchise, leaving plenty of room for more.

5.Rocky III: The film is most notable for subverting Reagan Era machismo stereotypes. Rocky grieves for Mickey. He gets real/vulnerable with Adrian about his fear (one of my favorite scenes of the whole series). He also submits himself to Apollo's training and teaching. They share an intimate moment (below). Mr. T pities the fool. Eye of the Tiger lives on as an inspired 80's tune. Our high school marching band performed it every football game for a decade or more. It was embedded in our small town zeitgeist. Iconic 80's cinema.

4.Rocky Balboa: A rarity in franchise cinema - a sequel primarily about grief, bringing the series back full-circle to loss and reconciliation. Strong visual compositions, classic Rocky life lessons, and Spider 'got religion' Rico combine to make a unique portrait of fighting through life in a post-9-11 world. Not the self-parody that the nihilist critics suggest. Instead an incredibly mature film that takes itself seriously, rejecting self-pity, embracing vulnerability and intuition.

3.Creed: Arguably the most 'American' film of the 2010s decade. Like the first Rocky, it undermines the surrounding politically divisive narratives. A story that invites us to fight along with these beloved characters who are searching for purpose & meaning from the past & present. Ryan Coogler brings his humanizing narrative abilities (as seen in Fruitvale Station) to the Rocky franchise. He generously creates a sensitive portrait about an assertive, determined young Black man and a depressed, stubborn old White dude struggling to redefine family and community in 2015 USA. Lovingly conceived, sharply executed, and emotionally piercing. Not to mention - the most dynamic (and realistic) fight scenes of the whole franchise!

2.Rocky IV: Visually dynamic, but politically misunderstood in the same vein of Springsteen's Born in the USA. Rocky's journey into the Russian desolate wilderness challenged American arrogance & greed as much as Soviet technology & progress. Balboa's soul is at stake, and "into the wild" he goes. There is No Easy Way Out. He learns that Change is possible through this (micro) inner discipline. Hope is the winner in this fight, not nationalism.

1.Rocky: Not just the best film of the series, but one of the all-time greats in American Cinema. In a post-Sixties depression, Rocky pushed back against the raging Exorcists of it's time, winning some awards along the way. In my research, no one person or reason stands out as to why it works so well. Many of those involved point to Stallone's screenplay as the foundation, but it was their mutual respect and communal effort that brought it to life. Like any great film, it is a story told with constructed, formal images that are layered with meaning that reflect the characters, their struggles, offerings, failures, and victories. A masterpiece that has truly 'gone the distance'.

...

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

...

This critical review was published by The Porch Magazine. <===Click to read the whole article. Read an excerpt below...

Each of Wes Anderson’s short & feature length films since 1994 (including his newly released Isle of Dogs) follow characters who inevitably experience failure & forgiveness. Anderson seems incompatible with cynicism, though not an idealist either. He unpretentiously "knows how to convey the simple joys and interactions between people so well and with such richness” says Martin Scorsese. Anderson’s fifth film, “The Darjeeling Limited”, was released in 2007 amidst a harsh & abrasive “war on terror” environment that produced several masterpieces that same year. Being critically dismissed in favor of films portraying serial killers and greedy psychopaths, there seemed minimal margin for Anderson’s lack of pessimism. His film about three wealthy, self-indulgent brothers traveling across India on a spiritual journey appeared politically obstinate. To that end, however, I believe it was significantly subversive. By shedding a humane light on a microcosm of white male narcissism (as portrayed by regular players Owen Wilson & Jason Schwartzman with newcomer Adrien Brody), Anderson subsequently allows for the possibility of transformation. He paints a graceful picture of personality disorder, remaining compassionate about how we heal these (not-so-hidden) emotional wounds infected with fear & shame.

Read more at The Porch!

...

Black Panther (2018)

Back in 2016, I wrote, "I found Captain America Civil War fascinating for it's willingness to confront the consequences of justified violence...particularly with Black Panther who enacts a bold, powerful, and personal (rather than political) act of non-violence." Having seen most of the Marvel Cinematic Universe films, the Captain America trilogy has the most to offer in terms of complex character development and narrative structure. CACW is The Dark Knight of this decade, seamlessly weaving together superb entertainment with complicated grief, questions of moral responsibility, political exposition, and the ethics of justification. Truly impressive.

Black Panther is introduced in CACW, traveling with his father King T'Chaka to address the UN regarding recent acts of violence in Africa involving the Avengers. A terrorist bombing kills T'Chaka - which integrates T'Challa (Black Panther) into the various dilemmas confronting the split super-factions. Iron Man leads the White Guilt liberal side, while Captain America's side maintains his 1940s conservatism. T'Challa caring more about the truth than politics, advances himself to a moderate distance, observing and learning before acting. This allows him the objective (but still empathetic) position to confront major villian, Helmut Zemo (who has lured Iron Man & CA into violence against one another).

T'Challa explains to Zemo, "Vengeance has consumed you. It's consuming them. I'm done letting it consume me. Justice will come soon enough." Zemo tries to commit suicide, but T'Challa won't allow it. "The living are not done with you yet", he proclaims with a mix of compassion and justice. Continuing down this spiritual path, T'Challa also grants Bucky Barnes asylum in Wakanda, offering to free his mind from captivity. Black Panther in CACW brings a sacred energy (beyond vibranium) that allows for new possibilities, new choices.

Marvel's Black Panther (2018) film is set in the days following the events of CACW. We quickly catch up with T'Challa traveling back to Wakanda, who makes a stop somewhere in rural Africa to obtain Wakandan missionary/warrior Nakia - so she can attend T'Challa's coronation ceremony. She is undercover, riding with (kidnapped?) women who are being transported by an African military convoy. Unfortunately, this extraction requires the unprovoked violent extermination (rather than de-escalation) of the heavily armed soldiers and subsequently, the awkward abandonment of innocent women and children in the dark of night. (Why can't they hitch a ride on the Wakandan aircraft?) Already, we seem to have departed from the ethical concerns & spiritual consciousness of T'Challa in CACW. It's a small scene meant to introduce characters, but there is still an opportunity to philosophically separate yourself by how a situation like this is handled. (Not to mention the technological possibilities of vibranium) Is King T'Challa not capable of offering something more?

The prologue previous to the Nakia pick-up was a flashback to 1992 in Oakland, CA (with Too $hort, rather than Tupac, on the radio) where King T'Chaka is seemingly forced to kill his own brother (Prince N'Jobu, Wakandan spy) - who pulled a gun when confronted with the truth of his underground activities. The situation has an Old Testament vibe to it, but still perpetuates the Black on Black violence narrative (as above). This too could have been handled differently, but was focused on the ends (rather than the means) of introducing the backstory of our villain, Erik Killmonger, the newly orphaned nephew of the King.

I know I am holding Black Panther (2018) to higher standard, but if there was even a hint of internal conflict in either of those initial sequences, it would be less an issue. The question I keep wrestling with - How can T'Challa be a champion of non-violence with Whitey Zemo in Civil War - and only days later commit acts of violence without provocation against his own people - and have nothing to say about it? It doesn't translate.

There obviously aren't many spiritual concerns in the film, but the narrative is heavy with resurrection symbolism - no less than three times. Not once does the symbolical or literal act of "rising from the dead" broaden the perspective of T'Challa or Killmonger. (is The Matrix really that old?) Like Shape of Water, it breeds something smaller. Killmonger arises bent on destruction and power. "Burn it all!" he yells. T'Challa rises (for the second time) only to violently confront his own people. Is that really his only option? Can he not emotionally flank this situation? Killmonger is a wounded orphan. Maybe he just needs someone to (seriously) listen to him? To include him? Both their father's failed to listen - isn't it now T'Challa's responsibility to right this wrong? Can't we dig a little deeper? (Maybe takes some notes from The X-Men?)

Why introduce emotional trauma if you can't follow through? I don't understand. Ryan Coogler intuitively handled these issues in the non-political, humane portrait of Oscar Grant in Fruitvale Station - and of course again with the exceptional Creed. (Of note - the Michael B Jordan characters in all three Coogler films are fatherless) This makes me think Coogler was somewhat restricted by Marvel. An obvious loss, if so.

"I'm telling you God's words, not no hustle. Remember that, Brother Baines?" asks Malcolm X upon learning the layers of moral & spiritual betrayal within the Nation of Islam in Spike Lee's 1992 landmark film. Baines had led Malcolm to salvation in prison, but Malcolm's true baptism would come after his voice, power, and position were stripped of him. Maintaining dignity, he journeyed to Mecca, seeking God & Truth beyond the hypocrisy of Elijah Muhammad. There he found a deeper salvation, a stronger integrity, and new eyes to see the people around him. It was for this perspective that he would be martyred. Erik Killmonger's story shares some similar themes with Malcolm's. They lost their fathers to violence, grew up in poverty, experienced betrayal at the hands of those who had promised protection. They were both victimized by systems of oppression, but only Erik maintains a victim narrative - becoming a self-inducted martyr for it (at the hands of the screenwriters). Where is Killmonger's Mecca? Is he just another monstrous villian?

*Who am I? Not your father, not your brother
Not your reason, not your future
Not your comfort, not your reverence, not your glory
Not your heaven, not your angel, not your spirit
Not your message, not your freedom
Not your people, not your neighbor
Not your baby, not your equal
Not the title y'all want me under
All hail King Killmonger

Killmonger is fatally wounded by Black Panther in the final moments after a long chaotic mess of a fight scene. T'Challa brings him to the summit and offers compassion & hope..."We can still heal you." Killmonger, assuming the worst, replies, "Why, so you can lock me up!?" This is a good, but ultimately insecure question. T'Challa is unfortunately not given a chance to answer.

Killmonger goes on, "...Just bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from ships, 'cause they knew death was better than bondage." I can't argue with his ancestors, but why are the screenwriters so intent on Killmonger being imprisoned by his anger and rejecting reconciliation with his own people? Is he not more than his victimized narrative? What about listening, healing, forgiveness, empowerment? What is honorable about suicide? Is the audience supposed to empathize with this decision? I hope not. Sounds like sympathy at best.

*Tell me who's gon' save me from myself
When this life is all I know
Tell me who's gon' save me from this hell
Without you, I'm all alone
Who gon' pray for me?
Take my pain for me?
Save my soul for me?
'Cause I'm alone, you see

Worse still, T'Challa, who delayed Zemo's death because "the living aren't done with you yet" is somehow indifferent to intervention here with his own cousin (who obviously cannot see beyond his own emotional wounds and doesn't have the spiritual maturity to choose life). Why the sudden apathy? How much more redemptive would it have been if Erik Killmonger was with T'Challa and Shuri in Oakland to begin work on their first outreach center? Full circle in his own neighborhood. Seems like a glaring omission. Unless there is something I don't know (maybe they save Erik anyway - and he heals alongside Bucky?), the Killmonger narrative was essentially a complete failure. 

"Vengeance has consumed you", indeed.

His name was N'Jadaka, son of Prince N'Jobu. He deserved better.

As-Salaam-Alaikum Brother.




*Lyrics from the Black Panther soundtrack (written by King Kendrick Lamar)
...