The year is 1975, and Sylvester Stallone is a broke, struggling actor on the fringes of the industry - taking bit parts, sleeping rough at times, and keeping the company of a pet dog he can barely afford to feed. Then he watches a heavyweight championship bout between Muhammad Ali and Chuck Wepner, a journeyman who somehow went the distance, and something clicks. Within days he has drafted the screenplay that would become Rocky.
What follows is the part of the legend that never gets old: producers Irwin Winkler (P.J. Byrne) and Robert Chartoff (Toby Kebbell) love the script and offer a fortune for it - on the condition that someone famous plays the lead. Stallone refuses. He wants to play Rocky Balboa, and he will not budge, even as the offer climbs and his circumstances grow more desperate. Threaded through the standoff are his relationship with Sasha Czack (AnnaSophia Robb), the arrival of director John Avildsen (Jay Duplass), and the slow assembly of a cast that includes Carl Weathers (Stephan James) as the charismatic Apollo Creed.
Farrelly and his writers know the audience arrives already knowing the destination, so they wisely invest in the journey: the cramped apartments, the humiliating auditions, the small humiliations of being perpetually underestimated. The tension isn't whether Rocky gets made - it's whether Stallone can hold the line without breaking himself in the process.




























