If you didn't know, Jack Flack was a boss. My adolescent obsession with wanting to wear a beret was born the moment I saw him. I need to know if his gray, leather jacket, with nearly as many zippers as Michael Jackson's red counterpart, still exists and is hanging up in a forgotten closet somewhere or is a prize piece in some low-rent movie memorabilia collection. I still want it. I would rock that thing with driving gloves, I swear it.
Rocky IV is a film that renders its time period in red, white, and blue magic markers. Good and evil, right and wrong. The movie is brazenly simple, unfailingly sincere and if you don't shed a tear for Apollo, you might be a Commie.
The real question is, should wealthy celebrities be asking for hard-earned cash from their middle-class fans in the first place. They aren't just paying to see it anymore; now they're paying to make it too.
I'd like to posit a theory: Christopher Plummer's DNA was frozen in 1965 and used to create Michael Fassbender roughly a decade later.
