Rocky III is a box-office knockout and a homecoming for "Sly" Stallone
An actor is an athlete of the heart.
—Antonin Artaud
Heavyweight Challenger Gerry Cooney quotes its lines with fervor. Olympic Figure Skater David Santee trained to its triumphant sound-track music. Its plot is adapted by feature writers and by coaches for locker-room pep talks. At V.F.W. halls, in cocktail lounges, and surgical scrub rooms, Americans on any occasion of victory or defeat, no matter how evanescent, are liable to exclaim, "It's just like Rocky!" The story of the virtuous and vulnerable heavyweight, Rocky Balboa, the Philadelphia club fighter who "went the distance" (Rocky, 1976) and battled to the championship (Rocky II, 1979), has become a red, white and blue touchstone of fable, energizing a spark of recognition that few film heroes—and fewer fighters—have ever done.
Rocky is a meat-and-potatoes exemplar of the American dream, a working stiffs contender who battles for his dignity against odds that seem overwhelming. Rocky III, premiering just two weeks ahead of the Cooney-Holmes championship match, extends a fresh set of sweat-stained victories to Rocky's loyal fans.
Their loyalty is bankable. The first two installments of the Rocky saga garnered an astonishing $400 million in worldwide distribution, against their modest combined production cost of $9.1 million. Rocky III grossed a near record $16 million in its first four days. Only one film, Superman II, has ever opened better, and that was because it was shown in 458 more theaters. Playing in 939 houses across the U.S., III has set a new Hollywood record by averaging $17,056 a theater in that period. Movie moguls still scratch their beards, wondering how the Italian Stallion managed to connect with such a haymaker. To Rocky's creator, that secret punch is easy to explain: he put satin trunks on his autobiography.
Sylvester Enzio Stallone, 35, "Sly" to his friends, stood at the top of the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art two weeks ago, surrounded by co-stars and dignitaries, facing the Instamatic strobe pops of several hundred noisy admirers. "This is just like a scene from the movie," he pronounced, in a voice that echoed Marlon Brando's punchy Terry Malloy from On the Waterfront. Rocky did roadwork on the museum steps in the first picture. In III he unveils a statue of himself on the same spot, his gift to the city. Now Stallone was preparing to do the same in reality.