Filmmakers have been exploring the tension, complexity, and consequence of the Cold War for 70 years. Three decades after the fall of Soviet Russia, Hollywood can still be relied upon to regularly produce Cold War-fueled plotlines. And understandably so—few backdrops provide such authentic drama; few premises inspire the dads of America to pay film admission so enthusiastically.
Seemingly, each nook of the conflict has been probed on screen: the space race (The Right Stuff, First Man); proxy wars (The Deer Hunter, Charlie Wilson’s War); diplomacy (Thirteen Days, Bridge of Spies); spy craft (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Living Daylights); nuclear war (The Day After, The Hunt for Red October); domestic politics (Good Night and Good Luck, The Crucible). Many of these films are celebrated—generally, as quality productions—and distinctly, as documents of a remarkable time and place.
Yet, one vital Cold War film is typically dismissed offhand; derided as a superficial, testosterone-laced, cash grab, lacking historical significance or even basic plausibility. The movie: Rocky IV—one of the most important Cold War films ever made.
That’s correct. The fourth installment of the Rocky franchise, the one where Rocky goes to Russia, the one that is basically a non-stop music video montage, makes what is perhaps the most profound, poignant, and accessible commentary on the US-Soviet conflict in the entire canon of Cold War film.
Rocky IV screenwriter Sylvester Stallone conveys more feeling through a fictional boxing match than the Spielbergs or the Sorkins were able to convey with historically accurate retellings or witty debates. In limited dialogue, Rocky IV speaks deeply.
At Rocky IV’s onset, the mainstream, American perception of Soviet Russia is clear. The Soviet people are cold, mechanical—apathetic to death, even. They are emotionally primitive, simplistically brutal, yet scientifically advanced. Rocky’s nemesis, the Soviet boxer Ivan Drago, is an enduring personification of what the Soviet empire means to Americans. He rarely speaks, kills comfortably, and is the physical product of a scientifically determined training regimen. He more closely resembles Arnold Schwarzenegger’s cyborg from The Terminator than an athletic opponent. Drago is a preprogrammed machine, meticulously sculpted by Soviet scientists, seemingly non-thinking and un-redirectable—not unlike the Soviet nuclear program that Americans feared so pervasively.
More notably, Rocky IV powerfully expresses a Soviet perception (granted, the American presumption of the Soviet perception) of Americans. It does so without a word: as Apollo Creed descends from the rafters to fight Drago, as James Brown performs his underrated Living in America, Drago watches silently from below, viscerally disgusted. Unblinking, Drago articulates a sharp resentment for the capitalist indulgence and care-free arrogance that Brown and Creed (America) flaunt.
With Drago’s destruction of Creed, an American paranoia is laid clear: presumptively, the Soviet’s grand ambition is to destroy us. Rocky’s choice to fight Drago, to avenge Creed at risk of death, makes him a single-combat warrior (is it East versus West, or man against man!?). And it makes the very real stakes of the US-Soviet conflict (death, apocalypse) personal and accessible. A character we care about, in a sporting contest, is just more relatable than cabinet secretaries sorting through the Cuban Missile Crisis or Vietnam War.
As Rocky IV progresses, Drago’s character is subtly developed—with impactful results (somewhere along the way, you might find out who you are!). While the film is designed to rally support for Rocky, it becomes hard to root against Drago. Turns out, he’s not a cyborg. He is an individual, with hopes and ambitions divorced from the Soviet objective. He is a creature crafted not by those hopes or ambitions but by the political system he was born into. He is a tool of the state, disposable human capital. The viewer learns to sympathize with Drago. And in crafting sympathy, Rocky IV manages to remind us: the Soviet people were never the enemy; they had the same interests and needs and dreams as their American counterparts. Indeed, with a brooding, misunderstood boxer, Rocky IV scores a powerful, humanistic propaganda point: no one suffered more under the Soviet system than the Soviet people themselves.
By the time Rocky IV was released, November 1985, the Soviet state was exhausted. America had effectively won the Cold War—without knowing it. The Soviet threat loomed large in the minds of ordinary Americans, and in the mind of President Reagan himself. So, Rocky IV was released at a peak moment in the US-Soviet rivalry. In 1985, the question lingered: who would win the bipolar struggle? (Can any nation stand alone!?). Actually, many Americans felt the Soviet Union would win. The dynamic is captured within the Rocky-Drago relationship; Rocky (America) is convincingly portrayed as the underdog. The American underdog complex captured in Rocky IV is precisely what allowed the Cold War to persist three decades longer than necessary. You can hear that underdog complex echoing today, every time an alarm is raised about Putin’s Russia.
The climactic Rocky-Drago fight is a grueling gutter war—no holds barred. As the underdog Rocky stays on his feet, round after round, enduring a relentless onslaught from the larger, more talented Drago, the Soviet crowd gradually begins to root for Rocky. The Soviet fan conversion is a jingoist fantasy–and excellent cinema.
Rocky defeats Drago, of course—an analog to the American system prevailing. Rocky’s free will, his honor-induced participation proves more effective than Drago’s state-backed participation. And Rocky’s late-round victory serves as a harbinger of America’s Cold War victory, achieved just a few years later.
Harkening the climactic monologue from Rambo, Rocky IV concludes with the victorious title character speaking through a translator to an arena full of Soviets. In what could have been a melodramatic, cheesy disaster, Rocky—punch-drunk—delivers an ambitious, transcendent message:
“I came here tonight…and I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen a lot of people hating me…and I didn’t know…what to feel about that, so…I guess I didn’t like you much either. During this fight…I seen a lot of changing: the way you felt about me…and the way I felt about you. In here…there were two guys…killing each other. But I guess that’s better than a million. What I’m trying to say is…if I can change…and you can change…everybody can change!”
As Rocky IV suggests, Stallone understands something that a lot of filmmakers do not: sometimes, the most effective way to say something, is to just say it.
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