I really like Oliver Stone about half the time, but the show-offy style he used with Natural Born Killers and J.F.K. doesn’t service Any Given Sunday. Those other films, with their multiple perspectives and drug-induced visions, felt right to employ rapid editing and multiple media. But Any Given Sunday is (or should have been) a reality-based ensemble drama about the rigors and tribulations of everyone who works in football. Freeze-frames, stock photography of rolling thunder clouds, and ecclesiastic Moby music don’t work here — they only serve to portray football as something holy and sacred, and the players as celebrities or gods.
The sixth entry in the Rocky franchise is far better than it has any right to be. Sylvester Stallone is back in the writing and directing chairs, presenting a melancholy portrait of a hero fighting against decline. At the film’s start, we see the Italian Stallion still reeling from the death of his beloved Adrian two years prior, while trying to maintain a relationship with his estranged son (Milo Ventimiglia). While Rocky tries to break his lonely spell by making friends with a single mother (Geraldine Hughes) and her son (James Francis Kelly III), a TV sports show tries to create a fantasy boxing match between the current heavyweight champion, Mason Dixon (Antonio Tarver) and a past legend, our man Rocky. The idea catches fire, pulling Balboa back into the ring after years of retirement.
