"Checkmate, friend"

Rating: 4/10 (28 March 2013)

What used to be a series of films about boxers has become a franchise almost exclusively about boxing. Where the focus was once on people, the focus is now on the mashing up of people; where once it was interesting, it has, by the point of Rocky IV, become extremely uninteresting. One of the easiest pieces of criticism in the world is to cite 1976's Rocky as better than most of its sequels, but there was a film about people wandering around; talking; falling in love and ambling through unremitting times. Now, we witness all that shelved for aggressive caricatures and crass causality which underpin a really unbalanced air of smug nationalism. Throw in a tacked on message at the very end, in spite of all that precedes it, about how sport brings everyone together (regardless of nationality, political belief or otherwise) anyway and you have a badly judged; poorly thought through mess of a sports film that does few people many favours.
Sylvester Stallone is the eponymous Rocky Balboa, a man with countless opponents already vanquished and a heavy number of victories already under his belt. As is the case with the beginnings of most of these sequels, we're introduced to Rocky as a man living the ideal life amidst the big-time; he's got the latest sports cars, a fantastic domestic set up, complete with wife and kid, and is the world champion again. He even finds room to encompass into his world the latest in modernity in the form of a curious, automated robot butler such is the depth of his personal wealth. Where time has passed; infants have grown and money expanded, so too have the years on Balboa – careers in boxing do not last long, and Rocky has been around the block enough times to lose big bouts; come back and win rematches, before further succumbing only to successfully garner the fame once again.
This fuss arrives when a Russian amateur named Ivan Drago (Lundgren) arrives in The States to test themselves against what the Americans have to offer. Drago is a quiet, seemingly shy, boxer who's well built and shepherded around by his entourage, of whom appear just as friendly as they do ignorant of their surroundings and American's boxing depth. Apollo Creed, one time foe turned mutual accomplice out of the bouts and respect Rocky and he have for one another, is around, but is long past fighting in spite of still possessing the itch to do so. With Drago's arrival, and Creed's eagerness, the pair match up in a fight Creed reckons will be easier than everyone thinks given this young opponent is foreign; not professional and just generally a bit of alien to things. Creed's gaze, as he watches Drago on the television on the evening's news, besots him with the idea of getting back into the ring – his observation of Drago as this young, unknown amateur seemingly ripe for the taking carries with it an odd dynamic of homoeroticism at the thought of once again implementing power upon someone inferior to him.
Disaster strikes when, under dramatic circumstances, the Soviet boxer upsets all odds and wins the fight: killing our Creed in the process; an instance that hits Rocky hard and throws his domestic bliss into turmoil when he's determined to get back in there and take the fight to Drago in honour of Creed. Overlying the drama is the tension born out of the fact Balboa and Creed were always at similar stages in their boxing career, and a mere exhibition fight against an eccentric wrestler earlier was enough of a challenge in itself. Thus, Rocky's own proposed idea of going up against this now indomitable force from the East is fraught with madness and danger, and is very much the plan of action wife Adrian (Shire) goes against. Regardless, Balboa gets it into his head he must for sake of retribution on account of his dear friend Creed while certain others get it into their heads that Rocky must win on account of resorting national pride. So much for him being the "Italian" Stallion.
The bad news is that a great deal of it is nonsense and the film on the whole is just a bit rubbish. The Russians are cartoonish and underdeveloped; their inclusion, in a political and propagandist sense, clumsy and ill-judged; the idea to change the nationality of the opponent this time around sussed by the dissatisfied audience fairly quickly in that it's essentially a ploy to disguise the fact you're watching the same sequel a third time. Very little works, although I quite liked Brigitte Nielsen's inclusion as this prim, photogenic dominatrix-type who does all of Drago's talking for him at the press conferences as he obediently sits beside her. Though what is truly bizarre, is the way the film depicts the obligatory training montages of the two fighters nearer the fight. If I told you one of them has access to all the technology and computers they could wish for, while the other has only a small shack in the middle of snowy nowhere; that one of them goes overtime on a running machine, whereas the other scales hills and mountains for their exercise; that one uses stretching pulleys to maintain muscle, while the other chops firewood with an axe, which boxer would you think underwent one training regime and which would you think underwent the other? This is, I'm afraid, as fresh as it gets.