Cast: Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood

Director: Darren Aronofsky

Screenplay: Darren Aronofsky

Running time: 1 hr 45 mins

Genre: Drama



CRITIQUE:

Films that encircle the boxing rink have Raging Bull, Rocky and Cinderella Man. In the rarely explored arena of wrestling, perhaps due to the fact that this is fraudulent, pathetic exploitation of violence for the sake of entertainment and screamfest glee, we have now Darren Aronofsky’s genuinely affecting The Wrestler. Lay down your guards, this is not a clichéd underdog-goes-soaring-champ via Rocky Balboa, but is seriously pulled down to a very human level without pretensions and flashy cinematography, or even slow-motions when an opponent smashes somebody else’s face. The tale centres on Randy “The Ram” Robinson (played to an astonishing conviction by Mickey Rourke), who is a fading star, an ageing wrestler whom after decades of fame, shown in a series of paper cut-outs in the title montage, he lives a rather bleak life. It’s a quiet evocation of loneliness, a man stripped from the only job he loves doing, and exist in doing. As soon as we see him, through documentary hand-held camerawork, we feel the realism of his character without entirely being manipulative; living in a trailer park, courting an equally-ageing stripper (a subtle performance by Marisa Tomei) and working in behind a meat counter as his other job. Whilst these all feel conventional, the film really triumphs in wrestling scenes.


Ironic to the sport which is known to be a gaudy, garish celebration of glam-rock costumes, circus-like makeup and preposterously created stage monikers, this film is free from the artifice. Those behind the gaping wounds, blood and swelling muscles are deliberate manoeuvres designed to calibrate a form of entertainment. And yes, it is violent at times, as the camera prods us closer to the physical wounds of the wrestlers; one shows Rourke in a backroom sequence where he just emerged from a fight involving broken glasses and barbed wires. It’s both a physical and emotional performance for Rourke, as the tale swings into redemption mood, where he reconnects with an embittered daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) he abandoned years ago. There are moment when it feels like treading a familiar ground, and sometimes flirt with melodramatic sentimentality, but Aronofsky pulls back, and he makes sure that he hammers home the cruel, heartbreaking message of his film – that there are people out there who are fixated to something they only know doing. Without it, they couldn’t function as a whole. To wit with Rourke’s line: “I only get hurt out there.” Physical wounds are nothing compared deep emotional scars.


VERDICT:

The Wrestler is that rare intimate, compassionate picture. A violent, bloody sport film overshadowed by more painful pangs of loneliness and self-destruction, nailed to a calibre of a performance by Mickey Rourke, both to sheer physicality and deep emotionality.



RATING: A-