The sad pulse of The Wrestler is of a man adjusting to an era
beyond his own. Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei play 1980s
artifacts—still holding candles for the glory of Quiet Riot
headbanger hedonism. Now they’re saddled with lives that don’t give
them much joy. She’s a stripper; he’s a once-famous wrestler. Director
Darren Aronofsky sheds a human light on their disparaged sex and
violent trades. And that becomes The Wrestler‘s greatest
strength. Fighter Randy “The Ram” Robinson’s life isn’t made
gratuitously sensational or cool. Aronofsky keeps us in the grime of
tacky establishments, often tracking behind Randy so that his
experiences aren’t detached from our own. It’s the sort of lonely-man
film screenwriter Paul Schrader (Taxi Driver, The Last
Temptation of Christ) is often associated with, and the will for
Randy to succeed rests on the power of Rourke’s performance. Though the
movie itself is an artful downer, Rourke’s victory is the great climax
of a comeback that began with his appearance in the 2001 Enrique
Iglesias video “Hero.”
The battle to emerge victorious through our obsessions when they’d
sooner destroy us (the common theme of Aronofsky’s movies) hits hard
because, despite his hammy stage persona, Randy is a good person. If
that makes any message in The Wrestler hard to distinguish, it
elevates it with the uncertain glory and defeat of real life.
For showtimes, see Movie Times, page 42. Show us star
charisma at palermo@thecoast.ca.
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This article appears in Jan 15-21, 2009.