I Play Rocky – featherweight but fleetingly engaging

Occasionally, when Hollywood announces abiopic, one wonders if they made up afilm purely based on finding an actor with astriking resemblance to someone at least semi-interesting. Such is the case with Anthony Ippolito, who plays Syllvester Stallone in Peter Farrelly’s fairytale-esque dramatisation of theRockyorigin story. Was this entire film constructed purely to draw attention to their striking physical resemblance? Apparently not; the project was announced afull year before the role of Sly himself was cast. Nevertheless, finding Ippolito – who previously played ayoung Al Pacino inGodfatherorigin story seriesThe Offer– must have felt like striking gold. This is afilm that hinges on his spirited, good-natured performance; without Ippolito, it’s hard to imagine thatIPlay Rockywould have worked atall.

We meet Sly Stallone as ayoung actor on the outs in New York City; going by ​‘Mike’, he’s juggling shift work with auditions, though his speech impediment (caused by nerve damage during his birth) and tough guy physique mean he’s restricted to bit parts as arandom goons when he’s not shooed out the door entirely. The looming threat of homelessness leads Stallone to acquire acute puppy and star in asoftcore porno, but his eventual relationship with peppy, no-nonsense cinema co-workerSasha (Annasophia Robb) dutifully turns his life around. They marry, and she encourages him to pursue his acting dreams through writing the roles that directors won’t give him, but when Hollywood finally comes-a-calling, Sly’s faced with the question of how much his dreams are worth on afinancial level. If you know anything about the production ofRocky,you can see where this isgoing.

It’s aprescriptive fairytale down to the last, with Tracy Letts’ comically villainous Sandy Maddox – acomposite character serving as the head of United Artists – the primary source of conflict for good ol’ Sly, and Matt Dillon’s beleaguered Frank Stallone Sr. asecondary, underutilised antagonist. It’s afascinating film, narratively speaking; completely unchallenging in away that feels bizarrely compelling, apiece of Hollywood mythologising so blatant and idyllic it earnestly insists thatRocky​’s production was astraightforward David versus Goliath story of the righteous, well-meaning puppy dog Sly Stallone versus the evil studio who wanted to make the film without him. (That’s certainly aconvenient story totell.)

…And yet. Even within this by-the-numbers biopic so reverential towards Stallone it feels like an ad for apolitical campaign he hasn’t announced, Ippolito exudes aboyish, self-deprecating charm, meshing effortlessly with Robb’s classic no-nonsense-but-ultimately-supportive (first) wife character. He doesn’t justlookand act like Stallone; Ippolito is enjoyable to watch, despite the unbridled hagiography of Peter Gamble’s script. This sort of mythologising is ironically indicative of Hollywood as it stands: abusiness that would rather reminisce about past glories than substantially invest in the future. IPlay Rocky is so pleasantly uncomplicated and one-dimensional it’s inadvertently comical, toothless to the extent it’s like the film was designed to play at low volume on day room televisions in nursing homes. Regardless, one hopes Ippolito has abright career ahead of him; perhaps one that doesn’t rely entirely on his resemblance to the handsome Italian-Americans of yesteryear.