Jordan comes out fighting in this sequel
Dir Steven Caple Jr Starring Michael B Jordan, Sylvester Stallone, Tessa Thompson, Dolph Lundgren, Florian Munteanu, Russell Hornsby
Reboots doubling as sequels are hard to pull off as credibly as Creed, 2015’s hot-to-trot continuation of the Rocky franchise, which put Sylvester Stallone in the trainer’s corner while a new star and director, Michael B Jordan and Ryan Coogler, made their indelible mark on the genre.
That was a tough act to follow, and – unsurprisingly – Creed II struggles to match. But that’s not to say it fails on any deeper level: it’s still a sturdy second round to a cracking first. The template isn’t Rocky II as we might have expected, but Rocky IV (1985), in which Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers) was killed in the ring by Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren), and then avenged by Rocky.
Because both Apollo’s and Ivan’s sons are now rival heavyweights with a legacy hanging over them, there’s a score to resurrect and settle again. Or, put simply, “These dudes killed my pops!”, as Donnie (Jordan) reminds Rocky, by way of telling him he’ll take on the Drago fils challenge.
For that less-than-elegant line and a script, which cleaves too strenuously to past formula, thank Stallone himself, who’s co-credited on this, having written all five of the original Rockys and the interim one, Rocky
Balboa. The symmetries that Creed teased out so confidently feel more forced, more rhetorical. We keep hearing that history is about to repeat itself, and lo and behold, the pummelling Donnie receives in the ring from Viktor (Florian Munteanu, an absolute beast) inspires remorseless déjà vu. That said, it’s a compelling fight, staged midway to let the film plot its comeback by pushing Donnie – still technically champ – into the obligatory underdog position for its Russia-set (though Putin-free) finale. The animus between the fighters pulls you in both times, even when Rocky refuses his usual mentoring role, staying home in Philly rolling out pizza dough while an assistant (Wood Harris) does the training.
Even Brigitte Nielsen (Stallone’s real-life ex) pops up, given little to do but look like a ferocious ice sculpture and fanatical patriot with ringside seats for the grudge match. Her role, and Russell Hornsby’s as a Mephistophelian promoter, needed more juicing up, and it’s a shame Stallone and Lundgren (looking weirdly more similar by the day) didn’t get more than a cursory, growling catch-up. It’s touching, instead, how much time Creed II commits to the ongoing love story with Bianca (Tessa Thompson), whose unplanned pregnancy catches both her and Donnie on the wrong foot, and gives the actors chances for an anxious intimacy they manage well.
True, the energy and grit of Coogler’s direction are frequently missed, with the soundtrack thrusting hard to fill in the gaps, but Jordan only gets more compelling to watch, digging hard into Donnie’s deepest feelings of shame and abandonment. He comes out fighting in the domestic scenes against Rocky and his mother (Phylicia Rashad), almost as hard as on the canvas, with exciting flickers of that Black Panther fury bubbling up around his long-buried grief.
Creed II gives Jordan a desert training montage where he pummels his physique into insane shape, as well as cute scenes as a dad and charmingly awkward ones of fumbling marriage proposal. It gives him a lot to do, and he pays it back in spades.
There’s a tender moment of acknowledgement from Stallone, doing his salty-sagacity bit, signalling emotion here and there, but largely standing back for the Jordan takeover. “It’s your time,” he says to the young pretender. In a star vehicle powered by Jordan’s combustible talent, he comes out with very little left to pretend. TR