In “Sleepers” a few men who had been abused as boys in a group home years earlier get revenge in a skillful, tactful, and above board way.

In “Creed 3” two men who had been beat on as boys in a group home years earlier box each other, one of the men being Apollo Creed’s son.

“Creed 3” is not a Rocky movie.

As if that assertion isn’t damning enough, I will go one step further to make my point.

“Creed 3” is heartless. It is a body without soul. It fails Mark Twain’s marvelous rule for Romantic Literature that essentially requires, “that a tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere.” “Creed 3” accomplishes nothing and goes nowhere.

It should be clear now that I have essentially worshipped Rocky Balboa as a second-order deity since first viewing Rocky 3 as an impressionable, skinny boy who was good at pushups. More recently, my devotion manifest itself in the following remark I made to a new friend on the topic. I said that if I ever got a tattoo, I would get the sound of Clubber Lang’s grunts.

I’m not desiring to be a hater here. There are many powerful moments and good decisions in Michael B. Jordan’s film. To name two, the inclusion of Mexican boxing is notable and probably financially sound. And the presentation of fantasy black life is almost realistic.

But Mr. Jordan hijacked the Rocky franchise with his directorial debut.

And that’s disappointing. I really did like the first two spinoffs.