The Wrestler

Recalling the directionless plight of Jake Roberts from Barry Blaustein's 1999 grapple confessional Beyond the Mat; Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler strikes a similar observational nerve, passively tailing Mickey Rourke's washed-up hair-hero Randy the Ram as he puzzles through the dregs of his pro wrestling career. Twenty years past his prime, his best days rendered as lurid NES-bit distractions whilst indulgent neighbourhood kids prattle on about Call of Duty. He has a daughter that won't speak to him, a week-day job he hates, and the closest thing to an adult relationship is infrequently pestering a slightly past-her-prime stripper, played by the luminous Marisa Tomei. Finding himself in hospital after a brutal hardcore match, Ram attempts to put his life back together. As an outline: ho-hum. Thankfully, Mickey Rourke (and indeed every else involved with the production) is (are) incredible. 

Ram's return from the wilderness to a nostalgia-baiting confrontation with a newly relevant heel is easily read in the context of Rourke's tossed-out acting career. A shining light in the 1980s, Rourke lost himself in booze and amateur boxing, destroying the matinee star looks he was (partially) cherished for. Providing able support in a couple of recent Tony Scott flicks, Rourke was back front-and-centre playing 'Conan in a trench coat' Marv in 2005's Sin City. Not everyone was convinced though. It didn't help that Rourke was somewhat short-changed with the Marv role, the more fearful, slef-reflective second dimension of that comic book character jettisoned by the big screen adaptation for one-note chuckles. Still, who can argue now? Rourke's life is the role, the years of success and self-destruction informing every inch of this Robin Ramzinki. Rourke's earnest, dignified performance perfectly compliments Aronofsky's unfussy, documentary styled direction. The Wrestler is not some career-crash geek-show, it's a Springsteen sketch of the private lives of macho dreamers. It didn't quite work out for them.