'I Play Rocky,' 'Elsinore' and 'Tangles' Signal an Oscar Season About the Craft of Acting and Memory

The Soul of Performance

As the major fall festivals draw to a close and the awards race comes into focus, two themes have emerged among a crop of early favorites: what it costs to act and what it costs to forget. At first, those seem like separate matters. On one side, we observe a surge in movies that are love letters to the craft of acting — almost pointedly so amid the rise of artificial intelligence.

"Actors on some level have to be humanists," says Anthony Ippolito, who played Sylvester Stallone in 'I Play Rocky'.

It's there in Elsinore, a portrait of thespian Ian Charleson's final performance playing one of Shakespeare's most celebrated roles; in Jesse Eisenberg's The Debut, a whimsical ode to community theater; and in Peter Farrelly's I Play Rocky, the origin story of one of Hollywood's greatest underdog tales. Each showcases human actors and their dedication to their craft in a moment when machines are attempting to replace a face, voice and life force.

When Craft Meets Cost

The cost of acting isn't just financial — it's emotional, psychological, and sometimes, physically devastating. In the case of I Play Rocky, the cost is measured in blood, sweat, and the unwavering refusal to let someone else step into a role that has become a legend.

Anthony Ippolito, who landed the part with an unsolicited self-tape, disappears into the garbled diction and hangdog stubbornness of a young Stallone without ever coming off as a mere impression of a person. In keeping with the film's theme of authenticity, Ippolito found the line between mimicry and craft the way an actor must.

"As long as it's coming from a truthful place," he tells Variety.

He spent months studying footage from the period, then worked "to see through or look past" pop culture caricatures of Stallone "and just kind of find it in myself." This is what makes his performance so compelling — not because he's imitating a legend, but because he's finding something real and deeply human in that legend.

Memory as a Metaphor

On the other side are stories about dementia, Alzheimer's disease and loss of memory, which were prominent in the Toronto Film Festival lineup. There was the hand-drawn animation Tangles, which broke audiences' hearts, followed by Cody Fern's family drama Closing Night and Lauren Miller Rogen's dramedy Babies starring Anna Kendrick.

All these films speak to erasure and ask what remains of a person once the thing that made them singular disappears. They remind us that even in our digital age, where AI can replicate voices and faces with stunning accuracy, there's an irreplaceable quality about human memory — both personal and collective.

Acting as Survival

In Elsinore, directed by Simon Stone, the final performance of Andrew Scott's Ian Charleson is not just about acting but about enduring. As AIDS takes hold, Charleson's Hamlet becomes a testament to how art can outlast disease and death. The film is a darkly comic yet deeply poignant meditation on legacy — how we remember others, and how they remember us.

Similarly, in The Debut, Julianne Moore's character discovers her passion for performance only to realize that it might cost her everything else. It's a story about the sacrifice required to create something beautiful from the ashes of everyday life.

Why These Stories Matter Now

We're living in an era where artificial intelligence is rapidly encroaching into creative fields, threatening to make human labor obsolete. The question isn't whether machines can produce content — they already do. But can they replicate the emotional depth, vulnerability, and soul that comes from a human performer?

With Tilly Norwood — the synthetic “actor” engineered to rattle the unions and the industry — many performers are pushing back. This isn't just about job security; it's about preserving the essence of what makes us human.

A Cultural Reckoning

These films offer a compelling argument: that while technology can cut costs, it cannot yet replicate the soul of an artist. They are love letters to craft and memory, reminding audiences why we still crave live performance — both on screen and off.

"I think we need more stories about people doing things themselves and thinking for themselves, especially the younger generation coming up," says Ippolito.

In a world where everything is optimized for efficiency, these movies stand as monuments to the ineffable — the messy, beautiful, unquantifiable process of being human.

Looking Ahead

Time will tell if the decidedly human themes explored in these early awards contenders translate to golden trophies. But each makes a forceful argument that the machines may cut costs but can't yet replicate the soul.

Whether it's through the grit of a small-town theater, the final bow of a Shakespearean legend, or the fragile memory of a loved one slipping away, these films ask us to consider what we value most in storytelling — and how far we're willing to go to preserve it.