‘Creed III’ is a hymn to redefine Black masculinity

The “sweet science” of boxing speaks to a fighter’s finesse and fortitude. Succinctly, it is the art of hitting and not getting hit. As I watched the third “Creed” movie last weekend, which stars Michael B. Jordan and Jonathan Majors, I was also reminded of the “sweet science” of Black masculinity.

“Rolling with the punches” describes the experience of Black men in America well. We have shadowboxed with stereotypes, whether they were caricatures of brutality or notions that we’re unworthy and unwilling fathers. Those shadows end up being the stuff of nightmares, whether it’s the specter of gun violence or glimpses from a police camera.

Some believe that beauty is in the struggle, but perseverance is what compels me. “Creed III” masterfully toes the line between softness and savagery, trauma and triumph.

This dance began before the movie’s premiere. Mr. Jordan and Mr. Majors pulled off a compelling press run, capped with an introspective New York Times interview. What resonated more than the dialogue, which covered ambition and chemistry, was the lead photo. A stoic Mr. Majors has his arms wrapped around Mr. Jordan in a way that wasn’t intimidating nor intimating. It was the picture of masculinity, even as some people might have bristled at the notion of Black men sharing such an intimate moment. 

It reminded me of a photo of Mr. Jordan and late “Black Panther” lead, Chadwick Boseman. Mr. Jordan, who played Erik Killmonger, has his arm wrapped tightly around Mr. Boseman, the once and forever King T’Challa, who has both of his hands gripped around Mr. Jordan’s arm. After Mr. Boseman’s death, the image became even more poignant. 

Mr. Majors is no stranger to cover photo controversy. A series of February 2023 covers from Ebony magazine show him lounging amid a symphony of pink, at times surrounded by rose petals. After a social media storm, the publication’s editorial staff felt compelled to write an op-ed rebuking the idea that the shoot was an effort to “emasculate” Black men. The conversation captured the essence of toxic masculinity, which is often discussed from the perception of patriarchy, not from how it pigeonholes men.

It is fitting that this conversation occurred during the run of the third “Creed” movie, because there’s another famous boxing trilogy which became a war of words and stereotypes – Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier. The three fights became the stuff of legend. Now, we think of Mr. Ali as an activist, with good reason, and yet he degraded Mr. Frazier with ugly taunts. Their long standing angst is a reminder of how trauma can transcend from the physical to the metaphysical.

In that way, “Creed III” is more than a movie about two Black men tirelessly fighting each other. It is a movie about love lost, about idols becoming rivals. It is a movie about abuse and therapy, how nature and nurture can be the thinnest lines between victory and defeat.

During one of the climactic points of the movie, one of the lead characters refuted the need to heal, which reminded me of the beginning of “Father Time” by Kendrick Lamar: “Real [Negro] need no therapy.” That song is a commentary about harsh patriarchy. All through the track, Mr. Lamar laments “daddy issues” that taught him “being sensitive never helped.”

Of course, there’s always room to grow and heal. It’s why boxers take a break in between rounds, to assess damage and adjust strategy. Therapy is a part of the sweet science, and the proverbial fighter refuses it at his or her peril.

This attention to detail is what makes the third “Creed” film arguably the best of the “Rocky” series. While Mr. Majors’ role as an antagonist to Mr. Jordan’s Adonis Creed fuels our hero, it is the latter’s relationships with the women in his life that give him depth. There are “couples therapy” sessions with co-star Tessa Thompson, the motherly endurance of Phylicia Rashad, and Mila Davis-Kent as the scene-stealing daughter.

It’s a reminder that masculinity can choose partnership over patriarchy. Strength can be found in precision and in timing – specifically, taking the time to love. Some of the deepest cuts aren’t made with fists. They are made in the resolution to be better.

I am flashing back to a commonplace practice of mine – preparing fruit for my oldest son. He loves strawberries, and my sweet science is taking the red orbs out of the plastic pack, washing off a knife, and slicing off the floral tops. I will pick him up from school, and his question will always be the same: “What do you have for me?” It’s not an inquiry of greed, but one of expectation – of provision. 

His smile affirms the masculinity of a caring father. It is a gentle reminder that there are few things with the tensile strength of love, and that neither stereotype nor systemic racism can deter Black manhood.