There is something fascinating about Hollywood revisiting its own history, especially when that history involves one of the most beloved underdog stories ever brought to the screen. The making of Rocky has become almost as legendary as the film itself. A struggling actor writes a screenplay, refuses to sell it unless he can star in it, and ultimately creates a movie that wins Best Picture and changes his life forever. It’s the kind of story Hollywood loves to tell because it reinforces the idea that determination, talent, and a little luck can overcome seemingly impossible odds.
Peter Farrelly’s I Play Rocky brings that story to the screen, with Anthony Ippolito portraying a young Sylvester Stallone. And while I genuinely enjoyed watching this chapter of Hollywood history unfold, I found myself wrestling with an unusual contradiction.
I Play Rocky might be one of the most sincere movies I’ve seen this year, but it’s also one of the most superficial.
Anthony Ippolito Brings a Young Sylvester Stallone to Life
The film follows Stallone during the years when he was struggling to establish himself as an actor in Hollywood. Rejection was practically a daily occurrence, and opportunities were limited. But Stallone believed in his abilities, particularly as a writer, and eventually created a screenplay about an overlooked Philadelphia boxer who gets an unlikely opportunity to fight the heavyweight champion of the world.
Hollywood wanted the screenplay. Stallone wanted to play Rocky Balboa. Neither side was particularly interested in compromising.
Anthony Ippolito does a terrific job capturing Stallone during this period. The physical resemblance is convincing, and he clearly understands the distinctive voice, movements, and personality that made Stallone recognizable long before he became an international star.
There are moments when Ippolito genuinely disappears into the role. There are also moments when his performance feels more like an impersonation than a fully realized character. It’s a difficult balance when portraying someone whose mannerisms are so familiar to audiences. Nevertheless, Ippolito brings enough determination and vulnerability to make Stallone’s struggle engaging.
And frankly, there’s something wonderful about seeing this particular Hollywood legend brought to life.
Peter Farrelly’s Direction: When Sentimentality Becomes Too Much
Peter Farrelly is an interesting choice to direct this material. Alongside his brother Bobby, he helped create some of the most recognizable comedies of the 1990s, including Dumb and Dumber and There’s Something About Mary. He later moved into more sentimental territory with Green Book, which won the Academy Award for Best Picture.
Farrelly understands how to make an audience feel something. That’s never been the problem.
And I don’t believe sentimentality is inherently a weakness in filmmaking. Movies are supposed to affect us emotionally. That’s one of the primary reasons I love going to the theater. I want to laugh, cry, cheer, and become invested in the people on the screen.
The problem with I Play Rocky isn’t that Farrelly wants to inspire us. It’s that his approach sometimes feels overly calculated and saccharine.
Characters frequently arrive to serve a particular dramatic purpose. Obstacles appear almost exactly when we expect them. Emotional moments are presented with such obvious intention that they occasionally lose the spontaneity that might have made them more powerful.
It’s not that these events didn’t happen. It’s that the way they’re dramatized often feels more like a conventional Hollywood screenplay than the extraordinary true story behind one of cinema’s greatest achievements.
The Making of Rocky Is Where the Movie Finally Comes Alive
For me, the most entertaining part of I Play Rocky begins when the actual production of Rocky gets underway.
I’ve always loved stories about filmmaking, particularly those involving productions that succeeded despite limited resources and enormous obstacles. Watching the creation of Rocky unfold provides some of the movie’s most satisfying moments.
We see the contributions of producers Irwin Winkler and Robert Chartoff, who believed in Stallone’s screenplay enough to put their own financial security at risk. We see director John G. Avildsen become part of the production, along with the complicated process of transforming Stallone’s vision into a finished motion picture.
There’s the unconventional shooting in Philadelphia, the physical punishment Stallone endured, and the innovative use of the Steadicam to capture some of the film’s most recognizable sequences.
These are the moments I wanted more of.
And importantly, I Play Rocky acknowledges that the original film wasn’t created by Stallone alone. His determination was essential, but so were the producers, director, crew, and people who believed in the project.
However, even here, I occasionally wished the movie would explore its characters more deeply.
The producers recognize something extraordinary in Stallone’s screenplay, but the film doesn’t spend much time examining exactly what they saw in it. Why did this particular story connect with them? What made them willing to fight for a relatively unknown actor and writer?
We’re repeatedly told that the screenplay is special. I wanted to understand why these people believed that so passionately.
I Play Rocky and Overnight: Two Very Different Hollywood Dreams
Interestingly, watching I Play Rocky reminded me of Overnight, the 2003 documentary about Troy Duffy, the writer and director of The Boondock Saints.
Both stories involve relatively unknown filmmakers who suddenly find themselves holding something Hollywood wants. Both involve artists determined to protect their creative vision, even when doing so threatens their opportunities.
But the outcomes couldn’t be more different.
Stallone’s determination becomes one of Hollywood’s greatest success stories. Duffy’s experience becomes a cautionary tale about ambition, ego, and the unpredictable nature of the entertainment industry.
I find that contrast fascinating because Hollywood loves celebrating the rare individual who refuses to compromise and ultimately succeeds. But for every Stallone, there are countless aspiring filmmakers whose dreams don’t unfold quite so beautifully.
That’s not an argument against believing in yourself. It’s simply a reminder that success in Hollywood is considerably more complicated than the inspirational version we often see on screen.
And perhaps that’s another reason I wanted I Play Rocky to dig a little deeper.
Is I Play Rocky Worth Watching?
Despite my criticisms, I enjoyed I Play Rocky. I love the original film, I appreciate the history surrounding its production, and I found genuine pleasure in watching these legendary moments recreated.
There’s an emotional satisfaction in seeing Stallone’s perseverance rewarded, even when you already know how everything turns out. And for audiences who grew up with Rocky, I suspect there will be plenty of moments that bring back wonderful memories.
I’d probably watch it again.
But I can’t escape the feeling that the filmmaking itself doesn’t quite rise to the level of the story being told.
The original Rocky took a familiar underdog narrative and made it extraordinary by giving its characters humanity, vulnerability, and emotional authenticity. It wasn’t simply about a boxer winning a fight. It was about a man discovering his own worth, regardless of the outcome.
I Play Rocky takes an extraordinary true story and somehow makes it feel like a familiar Hollywood underdog movie.
That’s the irony.
It’s a sincere, affectionate tribute to Sylvester Stallone and the people who helped create a cinematic classic. But its conventional storytelling prevents it from becoming something equally memorable.
Ultimately, I Play Rocky is sincere but superficial. And while I appreciated the emotional journey, I couldn’t help wishing that the film itself had taken a few more creative chances.
But I’m curious. Did I Play Rocky give you that same emotional rush you felt when you first watched Rocky?
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