Critic Reviews

Throughout the film, he’s so calmly but blazingly articulate, so candid about the processes of moviemaking and his strengths (and weaknesses) as an actor, so wise about the meaning of his own stardom, that I realized, with a touch of embarrassment, a prejudice I’ve been carrying around for 47 years. Deep in my reptile brain, I still think Sylvester Stallone is Rocky.

Mostly, it’s Stallone who impresses here, as a disarmingly open and self-aware icon whose hardest lessons have left a mark on him.

Mixing familiar stories with fresh insights, Zimny’s film is a portrait in restlessness, a picture of a man who has been both wildly successful and thoroughly dismissed — sometimes simultaneously.

While there is certainly still much that you feel like you want to know about Stallone at the end when it all neatly wraps up, Sly manages to be a documentary befitting of its subject with unexpected poignancy and just enough revelations to land some key punches before dancing away with a one-of-a-kind smile.

For those of us who fell in love with “Rocky” and have stuck with him, it’s pure documentary gold when Sly recalls how the film was shaped.

Stallone, often tortured in his movies, is cinema’s most tortured optimist.

Perhaps the most endearing aspect of Sly is how it re-emphasizes that the real Stallone is, in fact, a pretty chatty, even loquacious guy. Even his references to his own limitations name-drop enough artists to undermine that lunkheaded image.

By the end of Sly, the star proves to be a good enough explainer of his legacy that the documentary finds effective insight and poignancy — despite however much he’s an overly protective custodian of that legacy, and however hesitant Zimny is to shake him off of his preferred course.

There are a few talking heads, including some sincerely powerful stuff from Sly's brother Frank, but Zimny wisely lets Sly be the focus. His control of the narrative might mean the film is narrow in its scope, but by the time the credits roll, like a "Rocky" movie, you'll be begging for a sequel.

Sly is a frustratingly unrealized work, always hovering on the edge of real insight but rarely jumping into it.