A ‘Rocky’ Horror Picture Show

Yo, parking attendant.

“How long you gonna be here?” queries the uniformed young man in the Mann’s Chinese parking lot, preparing to write me a stub.

“Um, uh, about 12 hours,” I reply tentatively, a hint of shame in my voice, even as my firm look no doubt tells him: Yes, I am going to sit through all five “Rocky” movies in a row of my own free will, and what of it , punk?

It is the ultimate exercise in superfluousness. Watching what is essentially the same film five consecutive times offers all the enticement to the ordinary soul of a John Cage music marathon. Maximum minimalism. Saturation beyond reasonable satiation.

Still, what a test of will, though, with a potential triumph of the human spirit on the other end perhaps akin to Rocky’s own. I pay my $15 at the box office, collect my “free” boxing-gloves pendant, and enter the heart of Hollywood darkness.

Eye of the tiger, man. Eye of the tiger.

3:20 p.m. As Rocky roams the streets of Philadelphia during the opening credit sequence of the first film, he runs into an a cappella group gathered around a trash can fire, led by no less a musical luminary than Frank Stallone. People in the theater are singing along, la-la-la-la , note for note. Who are these people, I wonder as I find my seat, and do they really live in their parents’ basements?

3:40. Rocky brings Adrian back to his apartment for the first time. “Go for it!” yells someone in the crowd, not for the last time. She is about to be miraculously cured for all time of her severe dysfunctionalism.

4:50. Gettin’ strong now. Viewed afresh, “Rocky I” is indeed--as we dimly remember it--a real movie, unlike some of its successors, and spirits are high. “It really doesn’t matter if this guy opens my head up,” says Rocky, preparing for defeat at the hands of Apollo Creed, “because all I wanna do is go the distance.” My sentiments exactly.

5:00. First appearance of sportscaster Stu Nahan in a Rocky movie, to scattered applause.

5:15. End credits; stirring Bill Conti music. “Only four left! The first one’s easy, though,” says one of three youths in the row behind me. His name is Jesus Plascemcia, of North Hollywood. “We didn’t think anybody else would show up,” he admits. “We thought we’d be the only three here--Manny, Moe and Jack watching the marathon.” They have 10 sandwiches out in the car for fortification later.

5:30. “Rocky II” begins with a reprise of the original’s last few minutes, then picks up immediately with a battered post-fight Rocky in the hospital. Amazingly, the shock of the fight has made Talia Shire’s hair grow several inches during the ambulance ride. At some point Rocky gets too “soft” in all the movies, but “II” is the one where he gets emasculated in a big way, which some of the men in the audience find hard to watch. “Don’t ask me to stop being a man,” he begs Adrian, coming out of the first of many premature retirements. The ladies in front of me agree whole-heartedly.

6:55. Second appearance of Stu Nahan. “Stuuuuu!” moans the audience, Bruce Springsteen style.

7:30. Two down, three to go. In the lobby, a discussion of Adrian semiotics is going on. “Have you noticed how many times she glares at him in these movies?” “Nah, man, Adrian’s cool. We talk bad about her but we love her.”

Adam Mast of Burbank is a true Stallone fan. Even of “Over the Top,” I wonder, setting forth a challenge? “Yeah, even ‘Over the Top.’ The best was ‘Lock-Up.’ I loved ‘Lock-Up’.”

8:05. Appearance of Stu Nahan in the first few minutes garners scattered boos. Mickey asks Adrian, “Whatever happened to them quiet, tender moments?” An appropriate question for the first deliberately dumb, loud Rocky pic. Stallone is looking less like a boxer and more like a bodybuilder now. Meredith, in his apparent swan song, is chewing all the available scenery. “This guy is a wwwrrrreckin’ machine, and he’s hungry! He’ll knock ya ta tomorrow, Rock!” Wiseguys in the crowd are starting to make the Waaah, waaah, waaah sound of the Penguin, Meredith’s other enduring screen role, whenever the old-timer comes on screen.

8:45. Burgess Meredith dies on screen. Every sequel needs a “gipper” for Rocky to do it for, and unfortunately for Meredith, this time he’s it. Trying to keep awake and alert, I go on the prowl for continuity gaps, and spot another doozy: Mickey’s gravestone has him dying at the age of 76, his precise age in the first movie, even though Rocky has gone from 30 to 34 and raised a kindergartner in the meantime.

9:35. “Rocky III” ends and much of the crowd gets up to leave. They know that of all the movies “IV” really bites the big one and want to go out for dinner, but garishly orange-clad Chinese ushers have literally bodily blocked the exits. It’s a “Twilight Zone” Roach Motel fantasy come nightmarishly true. The Chinese’s re-entry policy has been changed mid-stream, and if we want to stay for “V,” we have to sit through “IV.” I decide to establish more contact with my fellow prisoners.

Mike Boyer of Burbank admits that “it’s mentally irregular,” in Rocky’s own words, to sit through five of these in a row. “I told a friend on the phone that I was coming to this, and he said he never wanted to speak to me again. He didn’t want to know anyone who would spend 11 1/2 hours watching Rocky.”

9:55. I find the major swoon contingent at the Chinese in the last few rows on the left-hand side. “He’s a stud,” says Julie Benoit of Norwalk, who is attending with her teen-aged daughter, Leean. “I wouldn’t mind finding him in a dark alley. We watch him on video almost every day.” Does the family like ‘em all? “Oh God, yes.”

10:15. The much-dreaded nadir “Rocky IV” has commenced, complete with an appearance by one of the least talented child actors ever as growing Rocky Jr. With all the crowd talk-back, this is getting to be more and more like “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” with special emphasis on the horror, the horror. “You remember when I said you ain’t gettin’ rid of me?” Rocky asks Adrian tenderly. “Yeah, about five hours ago,” groans the North Hollywoodite behind me, fading fast.

This must be the ‘80s. Count the product plugs. There’s also a strong fantasy element to “IV,” what with a sentient robot in the Balboa household and the genetic engineering that makes seven-foot Dolph Lundgren a Godzilla-like Soviet adversary.

10:40. The inevitable Stu Nahan walk-on. “BOOOOOO!” Lots of laughs, though, for the period-piece, Russkie-baiting campiness of “IV,” complete with lines like “Hey, at least we don’t keep our people behind a wall with machine guns.” A swell of nostalgia overtakes the patriotic crowd.

11:20. “You can’t win!” screams Talia Shire as henpecked Rocky packs for Russia. “Shut up you witch!” bellows back the crowd, and worse. The anti-Adrian contingent is getting bloodthirsty. Carl Weathers has followed Burgess Meredith into the Rocky martyr pantheon. Why couldn’t they kill off Burt Young instead? I dare say I’m finally getting a little punchy.

11:40. Diane, I believe I’m hallucinating. I vaguely remember coming to--I can’t think straight--was it a Rocky and Bullwinkle marathon? If I don’t make it back, Diane, tell the chief I did my best.

12:10 a.m. We’ve been herded from one of the side theaters at the Chinese to the main house for the big midnight finale, and the cold night air has snapped me back to reality, for the moment. The beginning of the new “Rocky V” picks up right where “IV” left off, with Stallone and Shire returning home after his underdog win has singlehandedly initiated Soviet glasnost . In the month or two they were gone their son has aged several years and changed hair colors and faces. At least the new Rocky Jr.--Sage Stallone, of all people--can act.

12:30. Stu Nahan’s fifth token appearance of the marathon nearly provokes a seat-ripping riot. For some reason he is the most hated man in Hollywood right now.

12:35. Burgess Meredith is back for a brain damage-inspired flashback or two. “Get up, you SOB. Mickey loves ya!” he spits and sputters.

1:25. “V,” as it turns out, is the first Rocky sequel not to be a complete remake of the original’s against-all-odds character arc. Instead, it’s a gender-switching remake of “All About Eve,” only with a street brawl at the end. But the unexpected early-morning introduction of new plot elements (a betraying protege) and the return of a real director (John G. Avildsen) to the series may have come too late for my damaged synapses.

1:55. The theater is now empty, except for the remains of several hundred spilled bins of popcorn, three curious ushers and Burgess Meredith, who is appearing to me in a ghostly vision. “Get up, you SOB!” he snarls. “Use the Force, Luke! Trust Yoda! Go for it! Yo!”

I went the distance.