Rocky Balboa is a relic. Writer/director/star Sylvester Stallone has said he’s made this film for the baby boomers, and it shows; there’s no irony, no hint of self-awareness, no trace of guile. There’s only earnestness. This is a film unafraid to have long monologues about heart, and courage, and respect. All this to a sweeten-it-with-strings score that a generous person would call “omnipresent.” There was one moment where I almost squirmed from embarassment, at this or that speech about what it means to be a fighter. That could be more an indictment of me and my generation than of Rocky Balboa.

We find Rocky old and a little beaten down. His beloved Adrian has long since died, and his nights are spent gladhanding patrons at his restaurant, named for her. His son (Milo Ventimiglia) wouldn’t mind terribly if Rocky just disappeared forever; all the better to get out from under his shadow. It’s a low place of slow decline. Comfortable and a damn sight better than where he started, but a long way down from world champion.

The world of boxing isn’t much better off. Mason “The Line” Dixon (Antonio Tarver) rules the roost, but it’s a paltry one. Fans boo him. Analysts question his legacy. One man beating on underqualified chumps hardly captures the public imagination, and the sport is dying. On a whim, SportsCenter runs a computer simulation pitting Dixon against Balboa. To the consternation of many, Balboa knocks Dixon out. No, this isn’t a completely kooky plot contrivance like I originally thought; turns out it actually happened in 1970, with Muhammed Ali pitted against Rocky Marciano. Marciano won.

It’s all oddly, almost shockingly straightforward. Here, Rocky’s downbeat. Here he mourns Adrian. Here, we see his eventual challenger. Here, we see Rocky reasoning with the people around him that he can stand up for one last fight. Everyone predictably (and sanely) tells him he’ll be destroyed. Here, we have (of course) the training montage, the money shot in any Rocky movie. And then we have the fight itself, prologued by last-minute inspirational speeches. When the fight’s done, so’s the movie. You’ve seen what you need to see.

Say this for Rocky Balboa: It knows what worked in the first movie, and adheres closely to that. And Sylvester Stallone really is a master of the character, and knows every little tic, both verbal and physical, inside-out. I guess by now he should. Rocky’s goofy, maybe a little awkward, but you know who he is and what he stands for. Everyone around him is a moderately nuanced caricature, but Rocky is Rocky. Crappy comedians have gotten material out of the Rocky voice for damn near three decades now, but all the same there remains something charming about the character. Here’s a guy praised for his doggedness in the ring, but who remains such a gentle mook in everyday life. A guy who throws a guarded second glance as yet another person underestimates him. He’s as aware of himself as anyone you’ll ever meet. He just doesn’t make a big show of it.

And by god does Rocky Balboa tempt me with its metatextual commentary. Here’s a man who first showed the world what he could do 30 years ago, and has since fallen into a steady decline with occasional bursts of fame reborn. And now here he is again, climbing back into the ring, risking something even more suicidal than that first risk 30 years ago. Will he show the world what he’s got all over again, or will he just embarass himself and forever shame what legacy he has left?

I could be talking about Rocky, or I could be talking about Stallone. The distinction hardly matters. It’s a risk, for character and actor, to do what they’re doing now. They both risk lasting embarassment. Enough people have asked in real life—as they do in the film—“who does this guy think he is?” What’s the point of chancing a public beating? Why revisit—yet again—a past that everyone considers dead?

Having met the man, I can say it’s not an ego trip. Stallone firmly believes in the values Rocky expresses on screen, stuff about showing who you are no matter what anyone says. It’s all very sincere. So very, very sincere.

Rocky Balboa is, in fact, so earnest, so glowingly uplifting, that I had a hard time enjoying it. I was too often reminded of its sincerity. I was distracted by the sharply-drawn Good Guys and Bad Guys, and all the character actors playing their characters to the hilt. I was aware, ultimately, that I was watching something from another age.