I thought six Rocky movies were plenty.
Then along came Creed.
And Creed II.
And Creed III.
Now Michael B. Jordan says Creed IV is on the way, and Hollywood has made another movie about how Sylvester Stallone got the original Rocky made in the first place.
Good grief.
At this rate, Rocky Balboa's great-grandchildren will be boxing before the franchise finally retires.
I have nothing against sequels. When a movie leaves me wanting to know what happens to the characters, I can appreciate another chapter. And I certainly understand why studios want to continue making films people enjoy.
But nine movies in the same fictional boxing universe?
Over fifty years?
At some point, somebody has to ask whether the story still has somewhere worthwhile to go or whether the people financing it simply enjoy watching the ticket sales roll in.
And before anyone accuses me of picking on Rocky, I'll acknowledge something important.
The original Rocky was a wonderful film.
It deserved the recognition it received.
But the very reason it was so good raises a question about the sequels.
If a movie tells a complete, satisfying story, why do we automatically assume the characters need to come back and do it all over again?
Sometimes another film gives us a chance to see genuine growth.
Other times, Hollywood simply finds a new opponent, puts the familiar hero back in the ring, and hopes we'll pay to watch him get punched for another two hours.
I can appreciate the former.
The latter starts wearing thin.
Rocky Didn't Even Have to Win to Give Us a Wonderful Ending
When Rocky premiered in 1976, Sylvester Stallone introduced audiences to Rocky Balboa, a small-time Philadelphia boxer who gets an extraordinary opportunity to fight world heavyweight champion Apollo Creed.
Rocky isn't wealthy.
He isn't famous.
And he certainly isn't expected to win.
He's an underdog who works as a collector for a loan shark, trains in a worn-down gym, and struggles to convince people that he has something worthwhile to offer.
Then Apollo chooses him as an opponent for a publicity opportunity.
Nobody expects Rocky to become a serious threat to the champion.
But Rocky takes the opportunity seriously.
He trains.
He pushes himself.
And he begins believing that he might accomplish something he'd never thought possible.
What I love about the original movie is that Rocky's goal isn't necessarily to win.
He wants to prove he belongs in the ring.
He wants to stand against a champion and discover that he isn't the nobody everyone assumes he is.
And in the end, he loses.
Apollo Creed wins by split decision.
But Rocky survives all fifteen rounds.
He accomplishes what he set out to do.
Then, instead of obsessing over the judges' decision, he desperately searches for Adrian.
She's the person he wants to see.
And when they finally find each other, the movie ends with their declaration of love.
I think that's beautiful.
Rocky didn't need the championship belt to establish his worth.
He needed to discover that he could accomplish something difficult and that he had someone who loved him.
The ending worked because the victory was personal.
He lost the fight but gained something he had been missing.
Self-respect.
And a relationship that gave his life meaning.
Honestly, the filmmakers could have stopped right there.
I'd have been perfectly satisfied.
But apparently Hollywood wanted to know what would happen if Rocky fought Apollo again.
And again, I can understand the temptation.
The first movie was successful.
Audiences loved the character.
And Stallone had created someone people wanted to spend more time with.
So in 1979, we got Rocky II.
This time, Rocky won the championship.
A happy ending.
Wonderful.
Now can the man retire and enjoy his family?
Apparently not.
By Rocky III, Winning Had Become Its Own Problem
One of the reasons I wouldn't automatically dismiss Rocky III is that it changes the nature of Rocky's struggle.
In the original film, Rocky is an unknown boxer trying to prove he deserves respect.
By the third movie, released in 1982, he's famous.
He's wealthy.
He's successful.
And he's becoming accustomed to enjoying his achievements.
He's no longer the hungry young man training because he has nothing to lose.
He's the champion.
And along comes Clubber Lang, played by Mr. T, who is determined to take the title away from him.
Rocky loses.
His trainer Mickey dies following a heart attack.
And Rocky discovers that the confidence he once gained through hard work has been replaced by something less dependable.
He's become comfortable.
He's lost some of the determination that helped him succeed.
Now that, to me, is a worthwhile story.
Because success can change people.
Someone who worked desperately to achieve a goal may become complacent once he's accomplished it.
A person who once welcomed criticism may begin believing he's too important to listen.
And someone who spent years trying to prove himself may suddenly become frightened of losing everything he's gained.
I appreciate that Rocky III explores those problems.
The movie also brings Apollo Creed back into Rocky's life, this time as a trainer.
The former rivals develop a friendship.
And Rocky learns from the man he once fought.
That's genuine character growth.
The sequel isn't simply repeating the original fight with a different opponent.
It's asking what happens after the underdog becomes the successful man everyone else wants to defeat.
I think that's a reasonable question.
But then came Rocky IV in 1985.
And apparently one boxing match needed to settle the Cold War.
Rocky IV Was Entertaining, but Good Grief, We Were Getting Carried Away
I'll admit that Rocky IV was entertaining.
Dolph Lundgren played Ivan Drago, an enormous Soviet boxer who seemed capable of destroying an ordinary opponent with one punch.
Apollo Creed came out of retirement to fight him.
Unfortunately, Apollo was killed during the exhibition match.
Rocky, devastated by the death of his friend, decided to confront Drago himself.
And suddenly the entire franchise had become a battle between American determination and Soviet power.
We had elaborate training montages.
Patriotic speeches.
A terrifying Russian opponent.
And Rocky running through the snow, chopping wood, and climbing mountains while Drago trained with sophisticated equipment.
The whole thing was gloriously excessive.
There was even a robot in Rocky's house.
A robot!
Somewhere between the robot delivering birthday greetings and Rocky preparing to fight a Soviet giant, we'd traveled a considerable distance from the modest Philadelphia boxer who wanted to go fifteen rounds and hug Adrian.
Now, I'm not saying Rocky IV had no worthwhile message.
Apollo's death raises serious questions about pride, aging, and whether a person should continue pursuing a dangerous activity simply because he can't accept that his abilities have changed.
Rocky's grief is understandable.
And the eventual confrontation with Drago gives the film an emotional purpose.
But the movie also illustrates how a successful franchise can become increasingly dependent on spectacle.
The opponent has to be bigger.
The danger has to be greater.
The music has to be louder.
And the final fight has to accomplish something more impressive than the one before it.
Eventually, the personal story begins competing with the spectacle surrounding it.
The original Rocky wanted to prove something to himself.
By the fourth movie, he was practically negotiating international relations with his fists.
I have to laugh.
But I also wonder how many times a character can be sent into a more dangerous situation before the writers exhaust the reasons we cared about him in the first place.
Rocky V Tried to Return to Reality, but Rocky Neglected His Own Son
In 1990, Rocky V attempted to bring the character back to his roots.
After his brutal fight with Drago, Rocky discovers he's suffered serious neurological injuries. His finances have also collapsed because of mishandled money, and the family returns to its old Philadelphia neighborhood.
Rocky can no longer safely continue his boxing career.
That's a legitimate problem for a man whose identity has become tied to fighting.
He has to figure out what to do when the activity that brought him fame is no longer something he can pursue.
I think there's a good story there.
But then Rocky becomes involved with a young boxer named Tommy Gunn, played by real-life boxer Tommy Morrison.
He begins training Tommy, seeing an opportunity to remain connected to the sport.
Unfortunately, he becomes so absorbed in the young fighter's career that he neglects his own son, Robert.
And I have a serious problem with that.
Rocky's son is struggling with the family's sudden loss of wealth and the difficulties of adjusting to a different neighborhood.
He needs his father.
But Rocky is busy trying to turn Tommy into the next boxing champion.
Now, I can understand why Rocky misses the sport.
He devoted years to becoming a champion.
He built his identity around it.
And being told that he can no longer fight must be devastating.
But he's also a father.
And his son shouldn't have to compete with a young boxer for his attention.
That tension is actually one of the more worthwhile parts of Rocky V.
Rocky is discovering that he can't keep chasing the life he once had without damaging the life he still has.
The problem is that the film eventually returns to fighting anyway.
Tommy becomes hostile toward Rocky, and the conflict culminates in a street fight.
Good grief, Rocky.
The doctors have warned you about the damage to your brain, you've got a wife and son who need you, and now you're fighting somebody in the street?
Couldn't we have ended with a conversation for once?
I would have preferred a story in which Rocky learned to be a better father without needing another violent confrontation to prove himself.
Because sometimes growing up means recognizing that a familiar way of solving problems no longer works.
And Rocky had plenty of reasons to understand that.
Rocky Balboa Gave the Character a Reason to Return
Then, sixteen years later, Stallone brought Rocky back in Rocky Balboa.
The film premiered in 2006.
By this point, Rocky is older.
Adrian has died.
He runs a restaurant named after her and spends much of his time remembering their life together.
His relationship with his adult son is strained.
And he struggles with the feeling that life has passed him by.
I think this is one of the more defensible sequels.
Because Rocky isn't simply chasing another championship belt.
He's grieving.
He's aging.
And he's trying to figure out who he is now that so much of the life he knew has disappeared.
That's a human problem worth exploring.
We don't stop needing purpose when we get older.
We don't automatically stop missing people we've lost.
And we don't necessarily know how to adjust when the activities that once defined us are no longer available.
Rocky wants another opportunity to test himself in the ring.
I might question the wisdom of that decision, given his medical history.
But I understand the emotional struggle behind it.
And the movie allows him to pursue something other than fame or money.
He wants to feel alive.
He wants to know that age hasn't taken away every possibility of accomplishment.
And he wants to deal with the pain he's been carrying since Adrian's death.
Whether boxing is the best way to handle those feelings is another question.
Personally, I'd recommend something with a lower risk of repeated blows to the head.
But as a character study, Rocky Balboa has a reason to exist.
It isn't merely trying to recreate the 1976 film.
It's examining the same man at a very different point in life.
And that gives the sequel a purpose.
Which brings me to Creed.
Because I think the franchise made its smartest decision when it finally allowed somebody else to become the central character.
Creed Worked Because Rocky Wasn't the Hero Anymore
When Creed arrived in 2015, Michael B. Jordan played Adonis Johnson, the son of Apollo Creed.
Adonis never knew his father.
Apollo died before he was born.
And the young man is trying to establish an identity of his own while carrying the legacy of a famous boxer.
That's a good premise.
Because being the child of someone accomplished can create unusual pressures.
People may expect you to follow in your parent's footsteps.
They may compare your achievements.
And they may assume that whatever success you experience is partly the result of your family name.
Adonis has to decide whether he wants to become a professional boxer because of his father or because it's genuinely what he wants for himself.
And he wants to know whether he can succeed on his own terms.
Meanwhile, Rocky has become the older man who can guide him.
He's no longer the young underdog desperately trying to prove he belongs in the ring.
He's the experienced boxer who understands the sacrifices involved.
That reversal works beautifully.
Rocky doesn't have to keep winning championships to remain important.
He can help someone else develop his abilities.
And Adonis doesn't have to become Rocky's replacement.
He has his own history, relationships, and ambitions.
Director Ryan Coogler gave the new film an emotional story connected to the earlier movies without simply repeating Rocky's life.
I think that's the difference between a worthwhile continuation and an unnecessary sequel.
A new chapter earns its place when it gives us a story we couldn't have told just as well the first time.
And Creed did that.
It allowed Rocky to become a mentor.
It gave Adonis a chance to confront his father's legacy.
And it introduced a younger generation without pretending that the original character needed to remain the center of everything forever.
For once, Hollywood seemed willing to let Rocky take a seat outside the ring.
Naturally, that didn't last.
We got Creed II in 2018.
But I have to admit, that sequel had a lesson I found surprisingly moving.
Creed II Gave Ivan Drago a Better Lesson Than Another Championship
In Creed II, Adonis faces Viktor Drago, the son of Ivan Drago.
Yes, that Ivan Drago.
The man who killed Apollo Creed in Rocky IV.
Now, on the surface, this sounds like Hollywood reaching into its collection of old characters and saying, "Who haven't we brought back yet?"
The son of Apollo Creed fights the son of Ivan Drago.
Good grief.
We might as well call it the children settling their fathers' unfinished business.
And that's exactly what makes the film interesting.
Because both young men are being influenced by the ambitions and resentments of the previous generation.
Adonis wants to confront the legacy of his father's death.
Viktor has been raised by a father who lost his status, marriage, and national prestige after being defeated by Rocky.
Ivan has invested enormous emotional energy in restoring the Drago name.
And Viktor is expected to accomplish it for him.
I think that's an awful burden to place on a child.
Even an adult child.
Parents should want their sons and daughters to succeed.
But they shouldn't expect their children to repair every disappointment in their own lives.
And that's the lesson Ivan eventually learns.
During the final fight, Viktor is being badly beaten.
He keeps going.
He doesn't want to surrender.
And Ivan has to decide whether restoring his family's reputation is worth risking his son's life.
In Rocky IV, Apollo had refused to let Rocky stop his fight against Ivan, and Rocky's hesitation to intervene ended tragically.
Now, decades later, Ivan is standing in his son's corner.
And he chooses differently.
He throws in the towel.
He sacrifices the victory to protect Viktor.
I love that moment.
Because for once, the most meaningful action in a Rocky movie isn't landing another punch.
It's deciding that the fight has gone far enough.
Ivan finally recognizes that his son is more important than his pride.
That his child's safety is more important than a championship.
And that losing a fight doesn't make Viktor a lesser man.
I think that was a wonderful lesson for the franchise.
Sometimes the strongest decision a person can make is to stop fighting when continuing would only cause more harm.
And frankly, that's advice several characters in these movies could have used years earlier.
Creed III Finally Let Adonis Have a Story Without Rocky
When Creed III arrived in 2023, Sylvester Stallone did not appear as Rocky Balboa.
For the first time in the nine-film saga, Rocky wasn't part of the story onscreen.
Michael B. Jordan starred in and directed the movie.
And instead of building the conflict around another opponent connected to Apollo Creed's boxing career, the story introduced Damian Anderson, played by Jonathan Majors.
Damian had been a promising young boxer and a close childhood friend of Adonis.
But after an incident involving violence and the police, Damian went to prison.
Adonis went on to become a successful professional boxer.
Years later, Damian returned, angry about the life he'd lost and resentful of the success Adonis had achieved.
Now, I think that's a much more interesting conflict than simply finding a boxer with bigger muscles.
Because Adonis is dealing with guilt.
He has to confront something from his past.
And he has to recognize that success doesn't automatically resolve the emotional consequences of earlier experiences.
Damian, meanwhile, has allowed his resentment to influence his decisions.
I can understand why he feels cheated by life.
But that doesn't excuse the harmful choices he makes when he returns.
The men have a history together.
And the conflict is about more than boxing.
It's about friendship, regret, responsibility, and what happens when two people who once shared an ambition end up living very different lives.
That's a story worth telling.
And Jordan proved that the Creed series didn't require Rocky to stand in the corner shouting encouragement every time Adonis faced a problem.
But here's my question.
Now that Adonis has confronted his father's legacy and his own past, where does the story go?
Michael B. Jordan said in February 2026 that he believes Creed IV will happen.
Fine.
But I hope the writers have a better reason for making it than simply knowing audiences will pay to see Michael B. Jordan box again.
At some point, Adonis should be allowed to enjoy his family, his accomplishments, and his life outside the ring.
He doesn't need an endless supply of opponents to prove he's successful.
And neither does the franchise.
Now There's a Movie About Making the First Rocky Movie
As if nine installments weren't enough to keep track of, Hollywood has returned to the very beginning.
I Play Rocky, directed by Peter Farrelly and starring Anthony Ippolito as a young Sylvester Stallone, began a limited theatrical release on November 6, 2026.
It dramatizes Stallone's struggle to bring the original Rocky to the screen.
He was a struggling actor with an ambitious screenplay.
Producers were interested in the story, but he insisted on playing Rocky himself.
And against considerable odds, the film was made.
It went on to win the Academy Award for Best Picture.
Now, I actually think the making of Rocky is a worthwhile subject.
The story of a relatively unknown actor refusing to abandon his belief in his own work has obvious parallels with the fictional boxer he created.
And a film about the challenges of getting a movie produced isn't the same thing as another fictional Rocky sequel.
So I wouldn't count I Play Rocky as the tenth installment in the Balboa-Creed storyline.
But I do find the timing amusing.
The original film is celebrating its fiftieth anniversary.
It's returning to theaters.
There's a new biographical movie about its creation.
And another Creed installment is being discussed.
At this rate, we'll eventually have a movie about making the movie about making Rocky.
And then perhaps a documentary about why people keep making movies about Rocky.
I have to laugh.
But there's an important distinction.
A film about the creative struggle behind the original production could give audiences a better understanding of how one of cinema's best-known underdog stories came into existence.
That's a new subject.
Another movie in which a boxer is challenged by an increasingly dangerous opponent may or may not offer the same value.
The question isn't how many productions use the Rocky name.
It's whether each production has something worthwhile to contribute.
Stranger Things Has the Same Problem, Only With More Monsters
This debate isn't limited to boxing movies.
Netflix recently announced Other Worlds: A Stranger Things Adventure, another expansion of the Stranger Things universe.
The original series ended after five seasons, but now audiences are being invited into a new supernatural story set in 1955.
I explored that question in Does Every Great TV Show Need Another Chapter? Stranger Things Is Going Back to the Beginning, where I examined whether Netflix's latest prequel has enough of its own story to justify returning to the franchise.
And I think the same standard applies to Rocky and Creed.
There's nothing automatically wrong with returning to a successful fictional world.
A familiar setting may contain untold stories.
A supporting character might deserve a more developed role.
And an older character may have something meaningful to teach a new generation.
But nostalgia can only carry a production so far.
If the creators can't explain what the new story contributes beyond reminding us of something we already enjoyed, I'd question whether the project needs to exist.
I don't want another Rocky movie simply because someone has discovered a way to create another boxing rivalry.
And I don't want another Stranger Things series simply because the audience recognizes a bicycle and a frightening laboratory.
Give me a story.
Give me characters who change.
And give me a reason to care about the outcome.
Otherwise, I'd rather revisit the original.
There's no shame in enjoying something that's already complete.
Jewish Wisdom Has a Question for Hollywood: Isn't Enough Ever Enough?
There's a teaching in Pirkei Avot 4:1 that asks who is truly rich.
The answer is the person who is content with what he has.
I think that's a wonderful question to put to Hollywood executives.
How much success is enough?
One successful movie?
Three?
Nine?
And if the audience continues buying tickets, does that automatically mean another installment should be produced?
Now, I wouldn't suggest that making a profit is inherently wrong.
Movie studios are businesses.
They employ actors, writers, technicians, editors, and countless other people.
A successful film can provide meaningful work and create opportunities for new talent.
And there's nothing immoral about producing another movie if audiences genuinely want to see it.
But profit shouldn't be the only consideration.
Artistic judgment should count for something.
So should respect for the work that came before.
If a creator has brought a character's journey to a satisfying conclusion, perhaps that accomplishment deserves to remain intact.
Not every successful idea needs to be expanded indefinitely.
And not every possible sequel deserves to be made simply because a studio can finance it.
The teaching about contentment isn't an instruction to abandon ambition.
It's a reminder that constantly wanting more can prevent us from appreciating what we've already accomplished.
And I think that applies beautifully to a movie franchise.
The original Rocky won Best Picture.
It became part of American film history.
It gave audiences a memorable character and an uplifting story about perseverance and self-respect.
That's an extraordinary achievement.
Does its legacy become greater every time another sequel is released?
Not necessarily.
Sometimes another installment strengthens the story.
Sometimes it adds little.
And sometimes it risks making the original accomplishment feel like nothing more than the beginning of an endless commercial enterprise.
There's another Jewish teaching I would consider here.
Proverbs 22:1 reminds us that a good name is more desirable than great riches.
I don't think that's a bad standard for a creative legacy.
Money is valuable.
But so is reputation.
If you've created something beloved, you have a reason to protect its quality.
And if a new installment damages the reputation of the series, perhaps the profits aren't the only thing worth considering.
A successful franchise should be worth more to its creators than the amount of money they can continue extracting from it.
I think a responsible storyteller ought to care about leaving behind work that people respect.
Even when saying no to another sequel means passing up a lucrative opportunity.
The Most Important Fight in Creed II Ended With a Towel
When I think about all nine movies, I keep returning to Ivan Drago throwing in the towel to protect his son.
Because that moment offers the very lesson Hollywood sometimes seems reluctant to learn.
You don't always have to keep going.
You don't always have to prove something.
And stopping doesn't automatically mean you've failed.
Ivan spent years living with the humiliation of his defeat.
He wanted Viktor to restore the family's reputation.
And he nearly allowed that desire to destroy his relationship with his son.
But when he finally recognized the danger, he made a different choice.
His son was more important than winning.
I think that's one of the franchise's strongest moral moments.
And there's a wonderful irony in it.
After all those movies celebrating perseverance, one of the most moving scenes involves a man recognizing that perseverance has limits.
Sometimes continuing to fight is brave.
Other times it's foolish.
The difference depends on what you're fighting for and what you're risking.
And if we apply that thinking to Hollywood, I think the answer becomes clearer.
Another movie can be worthwhile if it gives audiences a meaningful new story.
But making another sequel simply to keep a successful franchise alive isn't automatically an achievement.
There's no disgrace in bringing something to a close.
Sometimes a good ending deserves to remain an ending.
My Verdict: Creed Earned Its Beginning. Creed IV Still Has Something to Prove.
I'm not going to dismiss every Rocky sequel as a cash grab.
That would be unfair.
Rocky III explored how success can change a person.
Rocky Balboa examined aging, grief, and the need for purpose.
And Creed gave the franchise a new central character with his own problems and ambitions.
Those were reasonable stories to tell.
I also appreciate what Creed II did with Ivan and Viktor Drago.
A father choosing his son's safety over victory is a far more meaningful ending than simply watching two boxers exchange another hundred punches.
But some installments have stretched the original premise almost beyond recognition.
And I don't think the franchise should continue indefinitely simply because audiences are familiar with the name.
Rocky Balboa deserved a satisfying life beyond boxing.
Adonis Creed deserves one, too.
And I don't need to see their children, grandchildren, and assorted relatives fighting one another for the next fifty years.
At some point, somebody should be allowed to retire.
Perhaps open a restaurant.
Spend time with the family.
Take a vacation.
Preferably somewhere nobody is going to challenge him to a heavyweight title fight.
I think the original Rocky taught an important lesson about self-worth.
Rocky didn't become valuable because he won a championship.
He became valuable because he demonstrated perseverance, discovered self-respect, and found love.
And the movie was brave enough to let him lose the fight.
That's what made the ending memorable.
It didn't need a sequel to validate it.
The additional movies sometimes enriched the character, and sometimes they didn't.
But the original achievement stood on its own.
And I think Hollywood should remember that.
A good story doesn't become more valuable simply because it becomes longer. It becomes valuable because of what it gives the audience.
If there's a wonderful fourth Creed movie waiting to be written, I'll be willing to judge it on its merits.
But if the main attraction is simply Michael B. Jordan stepping into the ring again, I'd rather see him do something new.
He's a talented actor.
I'm sure he can find a profession that doesn't involve being punched in the face.
And as for Rocky?
After fifty years, nine movies, countless training montages, and enough boxing injuries to keep an entire hospital busy, I think he's earned the right to sit down.
Let the man enjoy his restaurant.
Let him remember Adrian.
And for heaven's sake, let him finish a meal without somebody announcing that there's another challenger waiting outside.
Because sometimes the most satisfying victory isn't proving you can go another round.
It's recognizing that you've already accomplished enough.
And having the wisdom to put down the gloves.
