The Wrestler (2008) +

A fascinating, stylish exploration of the emotional, spiritual and physical costs accrued by performers hustling for a dream that's finally slipping away. The movie's ostensibly about Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke, in what promises to be an iconic performance). Rourke's Randy is a guy who's been wrestling since the 80s and now finds himself at the end of the only lifepath he's ever really known. When an escalating series of health challenges culminates in a near fatal heart attack, Rourke's Randy finds himself -- however uncharacteristically -- reflecting on his life choices and what potential for happiness might yet be his. At about this moment, Randy's ongoing flirtation with a local stripper, Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), seems to be on the verge of becoming a "non-professional" relationship. It's a gorgeous conceit really. Randy (whose real name is Robin) and Cassidy (whose real name is Pam) are both really good at what they do. Both are still meeting the intense, physical demands of their jobs long after their bodies should have given out. And both are deeply attuned to the ways that their success is measured by the pleasure their physical performances give their fans. It's an elegant, obvious parallel really and what's nice about the film is that it really allows the fact of these performers' lives to be recognized for the hard, gruelling, and incredibly skilled work that it is. I especially admired how Aronofsky used Randy's pervy grocery store boss to underscore the weird ways that Randy, as a macho wrestler, is disparaged for the overt sexuality of his job. An artful way to depict the stigma of the wrestler/stripper as profession. I like that Aronofsky seems so intent on depicting the bleakness of working-class New Jersey, the gruesome brutality of low-rent wrestling, and the incredible loneliness experienced by these bottom-rung entertainers. The wrestling culture sequences -- whether in the ring or the changing room -- are frank and astonishing. Early on, Tomei's Cassidy quotes the film The Passion of the Christ, likening Randy's injuries to the flayed flesh of the Christ. It's a fascinating invocation. But I didn't quite register when I heard it that it was also a warning that some of the subsequent scenes would contain some of the most intimately gruesome injuries that I have seen on film since Mel Gibson's gruesome opus. Both films really do use the abused bodies of their heroes as an external depiction of an internally borne suffering, a self-acknowledged martyrdom as each man pursues his calling. But wowza -- depiction of physical suffering in this film is really intense, largely because we are so inside Rourke's Randy that we not only feel the pain of each blow but also the hurt that will come as his body tries to heal. It's a profoundly different use of violence than, say, spectacular gore and Aronofsky really explores its dimensions here. I'm not sure what to make of the film as a whole. It's a fascinating conceit. It's a glorious convergence of actor and role. (On the whole, the film is exceedingly well cast.) The music is perfect. I just don't know what to make of the story. I like the oddly mythic open-ending but still -- I'm just not sure what I think of the narrative/story. Rourke is very good in the role. I'm struck that the characterization isn't that remarkable but it's more the spectacle of this bruised hulk of a man being so emotionally vulnerable that's so impressive. He's a hulking, scarred beast and here he is -- showing his most vulnerable underbelly. It's really captivating, even/especially as he marshals his talent for self-sabotage in a devastating ways. (I'm not sure I've ever seen a film where I felt like I was watching someone commit suicide by performing.) Evan Rachel Wood too is very good, as always. She brings a taut emotional openness to her character, Randy's estranged college-aged daughter. (The sequence of scenes between Rourke's Randy and Wood's Stephanie are certainly the most conventional scenes in the film, and both actors are vivid in their emotional openness and intensity.) I was sorry that, in its emphasis on Stephanie's tectonic shifts in emotion, Wood's performance was not richer in character detail. Her emotional immediacy is so ripe, so present, but I didn't feel that I got any hit on who Stephanie was through Wood's performance. Tomei, on the other hand, nails both the emotional immediacy while also bringing, without fanfare, an incredible depth of character detail to the role of Cassidy/Pam. Essaying one of the most cliched roles in supporting actressness, Tomei brings the lurid reality of Cassidy/Pam's work to vividly unremarkable life while also clarifying her distinctive individuality. Tomei is vivid, precise, and real in the role. Almost any actress would have been impressive in the part, gathering sympathy easily, but Tomei does something much more risky: she makes Cassidy/Pam normal. Her heroism comes not from the fact that she's a tart with unexpected depth, but because she's a weary, frightened person who's taking a giant emotional risk. I find it remarkable that Tomei's big moment of clarity -- her character-transforming epiphany -- happens when the character's almost entirely nude. She's naked and we're watching her inner conflict. Amazing. Again, I'm not sure why I remain so uncertain about whether I actually liked the film or not. It's a great conceit, and an impressive stunt, pulled off with style, sophistication and heart. An admirable accomplishment on all counts, with one of the best uses of music I've noticed in a long time. Sure to be an enduring film.