Anthony Ippolito Delivers A Star-Making Performance

I’ll admit something: I’ve never actually watched Rocky. Which probably makes me an unlikely person to review a film that revolves around one of the most iconic boxing franchises in cinematic history. In fact, I was quite nervous walking into the screening, with everyone around me seemingly having done a PhD in all things Rocky. I wondered if I was missing some essential piece of cinematic knowledge that would make or break my experience.

But as the camera started rolling and the screen lit up, I realised that perhaps I was looking at it all wrong. I Play Rocky isn’t about knowing every film in the franchise, it’s about the love of cinema, the audacity of having a dream, and the sheer amount of hard work it takes for someone to make that dream a reality. More than anything, it’s about the man who wanted to play Rocky, the lengths he went to make that happen, and the kind of conviction it takes to believe in yourself when almost nobody else does.

I may not be familair in every detail of the original film, but I know what Sylvester Stallone represents. I know the legacy he has built, the cultural footprint he has left behind and, perhaps more importantly, how far he came from having almost nothing. From struggling to find acting work and sleeping rough to selling his dog, Butkus, because he couldn’t afford to keep him, only to buy him back once his circumstances changed. Stallone’s story has all the makings of a Hollywood underdog drama. Except this one actually happened.

Directed by Peter Farrelly, I Play Rocky follows a young Stallone as he tries to find his footing in Hollywood, writes the screenplay for Rocky, and refuses to give up the opportunity to play the titular character, even when producers offer him increasingly ridiculous sums of money to simply sell them the script. It’s a fascinating story about creative ownership, ambition, and the refusal to let someone else decide what you are capable of. You don’t necessarily need to know the significance of every scene in Rocky to understand what is at stake here. You just need to know what it means to have someone believe in your work, but not necessarily in you.

And then there’s Anthony Ippolito. Honestly, his performance is reason enough to watch this film. The transformation is almost startling. The moment he slips into Stallone’s voice, with that unmistakable slur, physicality and manner of speaking, it’s as though you’re watching an entirely different person. What makes it particularly impressive is how drastic the shift feels when you see Ippolito outside the character. There’s a distinct difference between the actor, and the persona he inhabits on screen. I know, that’s technically what acting is supposed to do, but there’s something genuinely fascinating about watching someone disappear so completely into another person.

More than simply mimicking Stallone’s mannerisms, Ippolito captures the humour, vulnerability, and stubbornness underneath the tough exterior. He makes you understand why this young man refuses to take the easy way out. His Stallone is ambitious without being entirely self-assured, occasionally ridiculous but deeply endearing. It’s a performance that could easily have become an impersonation, but Ippolito gives it a personality of its own.

An interesting takeaway from the film is the idea that sometimes, believing in yourself is less about knowing that you will succeed and more about refusing to accept that someone else should get to decide your limits. Stallone could have taken the money, handed over his screenplay, and watched an established Hollywood star become Rocky Balboa. Instead, he held on to the one thing that mattered to him: the right to tell his own story himself.

Of course, the film has its share of nostalgic indulgence, particularly when it moves into the making of Rocky, and starts recreating moments that fans of the original will immediately recognise. There are behind-the-scenes anecdotes, familiar faces, and plenty of references that will mean considerably more to someone who knows the film by heart. But I didn’t find myself needing that familiarity to stay invested.

If anything, I Play Rocky reminded me that you don’t have to be a fan of someone’s work to be moved by their journey. You can walk into this film without knowing every iconic moment of Rocky, and still walk out understanding why it became such an important part of cinematic history. Because, at its heart, this isn’t just a film about boxing. It’s about a man who had very little going for him on paper, except a screenplay, an extraordinary amount of self-belief, and the audacity to ask Hollywood to take a chance on him.

And sometimes, that’s all an underdog story needs.

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