In the opening frames of I Play Rocky, Anthony Ippolito saunters into a harsh spotlight, physically embodying the tug-of-war between nerves and stubborn self-confidence that gets him into audition rooms where casting agents typically count him out. He collects his wits, puffs out his chest, and bellows as "Thug #2" in that deep, slow growl - as though he's speaking while chewing through a New York striploin. We never find out if he got the gig, but in those moments, Ippolito nails his part as Sylvester Stallone.

Ippolito is a casting coup for I Play Rocky, Peter Farrelly's lightweight comedy about the making of Rocky, which leans hard on easy nostalgia for the 50-year-old Oscar-winning crowd-pleaser. His looks, physicality, and performance are so on point and uncanny that I never broke away from seeing Stallone - not even when he's recreating scenes so firmly lodged in pop culture's memory. The movie's title says more than it lets on, because Ippolito doesn't just play Sylvester Stallone playing Rocky Balboa. His performance, perhaps intentionally, blurs the line between Stallone and Rocky. When Ippolito's Stallone is flirting with his soon-to-be wife Sasha (AnnaSophia Robb, soulful) or sitting in an office sparring with producers Irwin Winkler (PJ Byrne) and Robert Chartoff (Toby Kebbell), trying to convince them he's worthy of a shot, I saw Rocky.

The film, reviewed at the Toronto film festival, otherwise remains a rather lightweight making-of comedy drama, heavy on fan service and light on real emotion - but Ippolito's knockout central turn is the main event.