In a recent episode of The Office, bossman Michael Scott challenged his bleary-eyed staff to name the most amazing white man they could think of, to which he would respond with the name of a superior black man. The game of one-upsmanship climaxed when one employee shouted out “Jesus,” but to everyone’s surprise, Michael rubberbanded with “Apollo Creed.” After a little consideration, I think he may be right.
In the original Rocky, Apollo Creed was the big show — a slave to Mammon — looking for a good publicity stunt to bolster his own image as a champion of the people. The buildup to his match with Rocky showcased that he was a lost soul among men - he kept training, but was far more concerned with his reputation and the money than he was with the art of boxing or a good fight. After his 15-round stalemate with the Itallion Stallion, Apollo whispers into Rocky’s ear that “there ain’t gonna be a rematch.” And why? Because he’s freakin’ Apollo Creed, a persona like the Sun God that symbolizes everything powerful and good; a persona that can’t afford to lose to a no-named nothing.
Enter Rocky II. While Rocky’s off petting turtles and getting married, and naively promising for the first of four times that he’s retiring, Apollo’s sour that the crowds have betrayed their king. The disturbing silence in his mansion has him on edge, and in one scene as he stands high overlooking his 2nd-floor balcony, you can see his pride hanging by a thread - the empty space below is clearly a shadow of the glory that once was, and his wife is now the only foot soldier pulling his chariot.
So he challenges Rocky again, but this time it’s only to regain the pride that he lost in Rocky I. Imagine a number line - that’s the extent of Apollo’s transformation between the first two movies.
In essence, between Rocky I and II, Apollo’s pride moved from 3 to -3, and he was just trying to regain what he lost. No more, no less. He lived in a two-dimensional world.
It’s only after Rocky beats Apollo in the second movie that Apollo embarks on his path toward salvation. In Rocky III, Clubber Lang’s “Get out of my face, chump” line leaves Apollo feeling dejected, and he’s forced to re-live his glory days vicariously through Rocky, who’s essentially traded places with Apollo. When Lang challenges Rocky, the Stallion becomes a victim of the same temptations that Apollo faced - his gym becomes a circus, with women parading around in short skirts and paparazzi fluttering through for photo-ops, and he only has Mick to save him against Lucifer’s deception. And when Mick dies, almost out of disgust for the fluffy world that Rocky and Adrienne have settled into, Apollo emerges as a beacon of the holy.
Apollo’s afro seems to grow at this point, if you pay close attention to the 100-meter race scenes on the beach. This is clearly to remind the audience that Apollo is taller and wiser than Rocky and, that to succeed, Rocky must follow in Apollo’s footsteps (the imagery is crystal clear, folks). Apollo’s re-entered Planet Earth, and he’s now bestowing to Rocky all the wisdom that defined his own rise to the top. Apollo’s transcendental training rekindles the fire of two warriors and envelops them body, mind and soul. It’s simply beautiful to watch.
And that brings me to Rocky IV, the boxing world’s Cold War polemic - there’s lots of red mixed into the scenery, which is no surprise because Stallone was Rambo by that time. Stallone’s trite and uninspiring glasnost speech at the end is perhaps the worst example of screenwriting in history (”If I can change and you can change, then we can change!”). That said, the political undertones of Rocky IV should not detract from what was the pinnacle of the film: Apollo Creed’s martyrdom. Apollo gets pummeled by the steroid-inflated beast Drago (aka Dolph Lundgren, who in real life went to MIT and liked math). A stonefaced Drago callously retorts, “If he dies, he dies,” as Rocky looks on helplessly and the crowd watches Apollo’s soul float lifelessly into the red ether. By this point though, there was no need for purgatory for Apollo, who had found the righteous path. He approached Drago with only a hint of bravado, and was actually far more concerned with reprising his glory days as a fighter. In the final analysis, he had been redeemed, and clearly was on a path towards heaven.
And so was the metaphorphosis of Apollo Creed. The end.
“The Soft Machine (or the day I broke down and killed Sombit).”
