Franchise fatigue is by no means a new ailment – in fact it’s become so commonly diagnosed that many of us have fatigue of the phrase “franchise fatigue” itself. But with all of last year’s 10 biggest films at the US box office being part of a series – and with most of them not being very good – it’s never not something to sigh over. It’s led to a sort of glum acceptance, the type that gets just that bit glummer around the release of yet another thoroughly underwhelming and remarkably pointless Marvel movie.
While shrugs are still being felt across the globe after last week’s lacklustre Ant-Man threequel, next week offers up a much-needed balm, a rare sequel that comes close to restoring one’s faith in the worth and legitimacy of the franchise as a concept, the latest chapter in what might well be the best we have right now.
The joys of Creed III, of which there are many, can still be mostly credited to Ryan Coogler, writer-director of the first Rocky spin-off and overseer of the next two, who also counts himself as one of the select few film-makers to make something genuinely necessary for Marvel with 2018’s standout hit Black Panther (the first and likely only Marvel Cinematic Universe film to boast a best picture nomination). His independent spirit, first showcased in the Independent Spirit award-winning Fruitvale Station, might have naturally shifted for a wider audience but there still remains a depth and sensitivity to his work that we just don’t see enough of within the multiplex. The Creed films have worked just as effectively as boxing spectacle as they have as character-led drama, graceful both in and out of the ring.
Coogler has both story and producer credit here but he’s ceded the director’s chair this time to his star, Michael B Jordan, making his debut behind the camera and making a mightily impressive one at that. As an actor, his passion for the character and the legacy he’s inherited has always shone through (his performance in the first film should have been Oscar-nominated alongside Stallone) and even though his dual role might sound stunt-y (how many first-time directors start with something so big?), he’s more than up for the job, sleekly taking the baton and sprinting past the finish line to a roar of cheers.
Jordan’s Adonis “Donny” Creed has retired, setting down his gloves and focusing on wife Bianca (Tessa Thompson) and daughter Amara (Mila Davis-Kent) but remaining in the industry, a celebrity unable to truly step out of the spotlight. But as anyone familiar with the Rocky films or just films in general might guess, he’s forced back in the ring when a figure from his past emerges. Childhood friend, the ominously named Damian (Jonathan Majors), has recently got out of a long stretch in prison and is keen to pick up where he left off before he went in, a promising young boxer imprisoned over a misunderstanding. Donny tries to offer help, partly out of guilt, but when Damian reveals himself to be far more dangerous than anticipated, a fight is set.
While the series may never reach the lofty heights of the first Creed movie (a near-perfect balance of heart, head and fist), it’s immensely satisfying to watch sequels made with real purpose and patience. The plot machinations might not ever truly surprise but then they don’t really need to, the pleasure is in watching them play out so smoothly with characters we’ve grown with – top-tier sports movies made in a long, trusty tradition.
What makes Creed III so refreshing is that it also scratches an itch many of us have for mid-budget adult drama and while it might be broad, IMAX entertainment, it still delivers the rare sight of big stars grappling with big emotions on a big screen – heightened for sure, but still existing in a realer world than we’ve become used to seeing in this context. While it feels like there are excised scenes that Thompson’s musician-turned-songwriter wife could have benefitted from, the family drama remains compelling, her gentle melancholy over a career cut short by hearing loss and their conflicted parenting over how to teach a child the wrongs and sometimes rights of physically fighting back.
Jordan and Thompson remain a magnetic movie star pairing and the intrusion in their happy marriage often resembles an early 90s domestic thriller. I’d argue that some of this interpersonal tension could have been ramped up somewhat – there are a few rushed moments in a script that feels a little overstuffed at times (some scenes focused on Phylicia Rashad, as luminous as she might be, feel extraneous).
Majors, an actor currently on a high-speed ascent to the A-list, makes for a fantastically knotty antagonist, a victim of a harsh system that Creed, through the luck of finding out about his real, privileged family, managed to get out of. The weight of where they both came from and where they ended up sits heavy and there’s a complicated strain between their scenes, brilliantly played by them both but with the showier role, another knockout turn from Majors (even if, like Majors has stated himself, I crave something a little lighter for him next).
There’s a jerky unpredictability to his movements both when fighting and not, a believable social unease with the world outside of a cell and a simmering, dangerous fury that makes him a ferocious opponent. The boxing scenes are, as ever, thrillingly immersive, taking us in and around a series of brutally well-captured punches even if Jordan makes an odd and unnecessary stylistic choice in the finale that proves distracting (his only real first-time film-maker misstep). The two actors are such accomplished fighters, at least to the untrained eye, that their big bout is a sleek, seat-edge triumph to watch.
Stallone might not have returned (he’s unhappy over the direction, calling it ”a regretful situation”) but with two big wins under his belt, Jordan’s Creed is more than up for the challenge without him in his corner.
Franchise fatigue is by no means a new ailment – in fact it’s become so commonly diagnosed that many of us have fatigue of the phrase “franchise fatigue” itself. But with all of last year’s 10 biggest films at the US box office being part of a series – and with most of them not being very good – it’s never not something to sigh over. It’s led to a sort of glum acceptance, the type that gets just that bit glummer around the release of yet another thoroughly underwhelming and remarkably pointless Marvel movie.
While shrugs are still being felt across the globe after last week’s lacklustre Ant-Man threequel, next week offers up a much-needed balm, a rare sequel that comes close to restoring one’s faith in the worth and legitimacy of the franchise as a concept, the latest chapter in what might well be the best we have right now.
The joys of Creed III, of which there are many, can still be mostly credited to Ryan Coogler, writer-director of the first Rocky spin-off and overseer of the next two, who also counts himself as one of the select few film-makers to make something genuinely necessary for Marvel with 2018’s standout hit Black Panther (the first and likely only Marvel Cinematic Universe film to boast a best picture nomination). His independent spirit, first showcased in the Independent Spirit award-winning Fruitvale Station, might have naturally shifted for a wider audience but there still remains a depth and sensitivity to his work that we just don’t see enough of within the multiplex. The Creed films have worked just as effectively as boxing spectacle as they have as character-led drama, graceful both in and out of the ring.
Coogler has both story and producer credit here but he’s ceded the director’s chair this time to his star, Michael B Jordan, making his debut behind the camera and making a mightily impressive one at that. As an actor, his passion for the character and the legacy he’s inherited has always shone through (his performance in the first film should have been Oscar-nominated alongside Stallone) and even though his dual role might sound stunt-y (how many first-time directors start with something so big?), he’s more than up for the job, sleekly taking the baton and sprinting past the finish line to a roar of cheers.
Jordan’s Adonis “Donny” Creed has retired, setting down his gloves and focusing on wife Bianca (Tessa Thompson) and daughter Amara (Mila Davis-Kent) but remaining in the industry, a celebrity unable to truly step out of the spotlight. But as anyone familiar with the Rocky films or just films in general might guess, he’s forced back in the ring when a figure from his past emerges. Childhood friend, the ominously named Damian (Jonathan Majors), has recently got out of a long stretch in prison and is keen to pick up where he left off before he went in, a promising young boxer imprisoned over a misunderstanding. Donny tries to offer help, partly out of guilt, but when Damian reveals himself to be far more dangerous than anticipated, a fight is set.
While the series may never reach the lofty heights of the first Creed movie (a near-perfect balance of heart, head and fist), it’s immensely satisfying to watch sequels made with real purpose and patience. The plot machinations might not ever truly surprise but then they don’t really need to, the pleasure is in watching them play out so smoothly with characters we’ve grown with – top-tier sports movies made in a long, trusty tradition.
What makes Creed III so refreshing is that it also scratches an itch many of us have for mid-budget adult drama and while it might be broad, IMAX entertainment, it still delivers the rare sight of big stars grappling with big emotions on a big screen – heightened for sure, but still existing in a realer world than we’ve become used to seeing in this context. While it feels like there are excised scenes that Thompson’s musician-turned-songwriter wife could have benefitted from, the family drama remains compelling, her gentle melancholy over a career cut short by hearing loss and their conflicted parenting over how to teach a child the wrongs and sometimes rights of physically fighting back.
Jordan and Thompson remain a magnetic movie star pairing and the intrusion in their happy marriage often resembles an early 90s domestic thriller. I’d argue that some of this interpersonal tension could have been ramped up somewhat – there are a few rushed moments in a script that feels a little overstuffed at times (some scenes focused on Phylicia Rashad, as luminous as she might be, feel extraneous).
Majors, an actor currently on a high-speed ascent to the A-list, makes for a fantastically knotty antagonist, a victim of a harsh system that Creed, through the luck of finding out about his real, privileged family, managed to get out of. The weight of where they both came from and where they ended up sits heavy and there’s a complicated strain between their scenes, brilliantly played by them both but with the showier role, another knockout turn from Majors (even if, like Majors has stated himself, I crave something a little lighter for him next).
There’s a jerky unpredictability to his movements both when fighting and not, a believable social unease with the world outside of a cell and a simmering, dangerous fury that makes him a ferocious opponent. The boxing scenes are, as ever, thrillingly immersive, taking us in and around a series of brutally well-captured punches even if Jordan makes an odd and unnecessary stylistic choice in the finale that proves distracting (his only real first-time film-maker misstep). The two actors are such accomplished fighters, at least to the untrained eye, that their big bout is a sleek, seat-edge triumph to watch.
Stallone might not have returned (he’s unhappy over the direction, calling it ”a regretful situation”) but with two big wins under his belt, Jordan’s Creed is more than up for the challenge without him in his corner.