“Rocky” doesn’t come up much in conversation between The Husband and me (why would it?) but each time it does, the conversation goes down a very similar route:
Me: I hate boxing, and I don’t like Sylvester Stallone, so I’m not really interested in watching Rocky.
TH: It isn’t a “boxing movie”, it’s a love story.
Me: Sure.
A month or so ago, when I was haranguing my social media circle with incessant “what are your favourite movies” research, I asked TH what his were. When it came to “favourite romantic movie”, he didn’t even stop to think, “Rocky”, he said.
Now… I’ve been taking advice from everyone who has offered up their favourite silver screen movie, their favourite thriller, their favourite comedy… so tonight, I said to the man I’ve been in a romantic relationship with for more than half of my life, that I wanted to watch Rocky.
TH: Why?
Me: Because it’s your favourite romantic movie.
TH: I don’t think it’s your type of romance.
Me: Have you been telling me it’s a love story, implying that the love is between him and another person, when it’s between him and boxing?
TH: No. It IS a love story between him and another person.
Me: Ok. Let’s watch it.
So we did.
And who would have thought… but despite an INCREDIBLY uncomfortable scene early on, which by the look of TH’s face he had forgotten about – or he had not noticed how dodgy it was last time he watched it, because we’re all continually growing as humans, and behaviour than people didn’t bat an eye at in 1976, and probably even 1996, makes you feel a bit sick in 2020…
… sorry… Where was I?
… Oh, yes…
Despite *that* scene, it really IS a love story, and a very sweet one. Who would have thought? (Not me, clearly.)
And, yes, I properly cried at the end.
So if you haven’t seen it, I recommend you do.
Just the first one – apparently the others are exactly what I suspected they all were.
My Name is Not Debbie 