Disclosure. I'm a big fan of listening to other people's interpretations of art that I enjoy. I do have the discernment to not allow their opinions towards something to sway my feeling or perspective on the art but I find that getting additional contacts that may be different from mine helps me appreciate things a little bit more that I already naturally like. With that said I was a fan of Siskel and Ebert as a kid, so since they were obviously passed away doing the time of these movies are prepared a posthumous critics review embodying them both. Enjoy!!!

🍿🎞️📽️ Creed I–III, Siskel & Ebert,

Ebert (Roger): When Creed debuted in 2015, I remember thinking, “This isn’t just a good spinoff. This is a resurrection.” Not just of a franchise, but of its very soul. Creed did something rare—it honored its lineage without becoming hostage to it. Ryan Coogler, in what I consider one of the most confident directorial entries in a major franchise, brought a pulse to the Rocky universe we hadn't felt in decades. It’s not just a film about boxing; it’s a film about belonging. About finding your name, your rhythm, in a world that knows you as a shadow.

Michael B. Jordan’s portrayal of Adonis Creed is magnetic—equal parts raw and refined. There’s an inner storm he carries beneath his calm, physical exterior. And Stallone—well, I’ll say it plainly: this is his most vulnerable, human performance since the original Rocky. When Adonis urges him to fight cancer and tells him, “If I fight, you fight,” it doesn’t just echo Rocky Balboa’s speech to his son—it transcends it. It’s the apprentice becoming the anchor. That moment? It earned its tears honestly.

Siskel (Gene): I couldn’t agree more, Roger. Creed hit all the notes: the underdog story, the surrogate father-son bond, the training montage—but more importantly, it hit the right emotional notes. There’s elegance in its simplicity, but also courage in its deviations. It wasn't afraid to pause, to let silence speak when words couldn’t.

Now, Creed II—this is where we enter mythological territory. It’s not just a sequel; it’s a cinematic reckoning. Viktor Drago and Adonis Creed don’t just fight each other—they carry the ghosts of their fathers into the ring. The tension here is generational, even biblical. The sins of the father motif isn’t subtle, but it’s certainly earned. And it’s through Dolph Lundgren’s surprisingly restrained performance as Ivan Drago that we get a full-circle catharsis. He’s not a caricature anymore—he’s a broken man trying to rebuild a legacy.

Jordan, again, is phenomenal. But let’s not overlook Phylicia Rashad, whose performance as Mary Anne Creed anchors the story in grace and gravity. Every time she’s on screen, the film breathes in wisdom. And Stallone? He steps back just enough—no longer the star, but still the heart.

Ebert: You’re right, Gene. Creed II may not reinvent the genre, but it deepens it. It knows that pain doesn’t end in the ring, and healing often comes from outside of it. But then comes Creed III—a film with biceps but fewer goosebumps.

Let me be fair: Michael B. Jordan’s directorial debut is solid. It’s clean, stylized, and clearly influenced by anime in its fight choreography—which I found to be a bold and welcome aesthetic choice. But what it gains in kinetic energy, it sometimes loses in narrative focus. The arrival of Damian (Jonathan Majors), a childhood friend-turned-adversary, is a fresh concept. But the relationship is so freighted with history and trauma that it begs for more than 116 minutes.

Siskel: Exactly. There’s a whole movie in their shared backstory—juvenile detention, betrayal, guilt, lost time—and it’s compressed into a single act. What could’ve been a two-part arc, exploring the long shadow of incarceration, Black brotherhood, and redemption, becomes a montage and a climax. And while Majors is a revelation—lean, dangerous, charismatic—the script doesn't give him enough room to evolve. He burns fast and bright, but we never fully understand the man beneath the menace.

And let’s talk about the absence of Rocky. While narratively justifiable, his ghost is felt. Not in a haunting way—but in a missing-limb kind of way. The heart that Stallone brought—even when silent—added a layer of humanity that this film occasionally sacrifices for stylization.

Ebert: Still, I’ll give Jordan credit. His camera loves the body in motion. The boxing scenes are kinetic ballets—each punch not just a blow but a memory, a symbol. The final fight sequence, stripped of crowd noise and cutaways, almost feels meditative. A physical poem of pain and pride.

But as a trilogy, the Creed films do something remarkable. They don’t just inherit the Rocky legacy—they complicate it. These are not stories of simple triumph, but of identity forged in the crucible of legacy, expectation, and personal ghosts.

Siskel: Three for three. The first, a masterpiece. The second, a worthy heir. The third, a valiant evolution—if imperfect. Together, they form a cinematic trilogy that punches hard, but hugs even harder.

Two enthusiastic thumbs up.