![]() ![]() It takes the basic template of the earlier films, eliminating most of the human qualities and magnifying the ridiculousness. At 99 minutes, it’s the shortest Rocky so far, boiling the series down to an essential formula as rigid and dependable as the James Bond series. ![]() Where Rocky and Rocky II were quiet and leisurely, as much about romance and working-class Philly as boxing, Rocky III is a lean, mean kitsch machine. The affable lug you knew from parts I and II – the one with the leather jacket and the felt hat who fawned over Adrian and loved his dog – is gone, replaced to a snarling brick of a man with gelled hair, tailored suits, and, evidently, no dog (seriously Sly, what happened to the dog? Is he okay?). Oh sure, Rocky III features a character named “Rocky” who happens to be a boxer, but forget it. Say goodbye to Rocky Balboa for the foreseeable future. These are the years that defined the persona we think of when we think about “Sylvester Stallone.” The mid-80s may not have been our man’s best or riskiest era, but it was undoubtedly his Stalloniest. You may think you’re a man because you’ve seen Rocky a buncha times or can make a jokey reference to “that Stallone porno,” but with Rocky III (1982) and First Blood (1982) we’ve arrived at the period that’ll put fire in your belly and hair on your chest (margin of error: Rhinestone). Alright you sissies, you pansies, you sushi-eating, latte-swigging libtards, listen up: from this point on, it’s no girls allowed in this Sylvester Stallone column ‘cause we’re entering the Golden (Stallolden?) Era. ![]()
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