Sunday, January 18, 2009

Review: The Wrestler (2008)

I'm not a hater. Mickey Rourke has had it tough, and there's nothing Hollywood loves more than a comeback, and The Wrestler is more than a worthy entry for movie of the year; not to mention, Rourke's performance is strong, nor does Marisa Tomei disappoint in her cliché role as a stripper with a good heart.

"But come on! It's a movie about Wrestling!" some people might say, and they would be right, but it's a film about so much more than that. This is a film about redemption and the sordid elements of a life lived to pursue a dream. Rourke's performance is spot-on and very touching.

The ultra-violence of the sport at times becomes laughable and it's horrifying that we can laugh at it, but the fact that it's all an illusion, however dangerous, makes it somehow less disturbing, even comedic. When Rourke steps backstage after his masterful performance, covered in blood, embedded by glass, thumbtacked back and all, he's met with applause and cheers from his co-performers and we're shown the ugly truth: that a man has damaged his life (and continues to do so) to create an illusion for us to enjoy. It's ultimately very sad and I left the movie feeling depressed.

There was a strong Christian subtext that bothered me. Rourke's character is compared to Jesus, undergoing bloody punishment like the Christ in The Passion. The end almost slides into blatant obviousness that comes just short of getting all church-preachy, off the top rope, hands extended all messianically. Hell, is that even a word?

Despite the obvious subtext, the movie is great. I just don't know if it's Movie of the Year good. I suspect The Curious Case of Benjamin Button will steal the win, simply because it's safer and more sanitized, much like Forrest Gump beat out Pulp Fiction. But time will vindicate this movie, for it's an instant classic reminiscent of Raging Bull. And while I don't forgive Rourke's douchebaggery from the 80's when he was all wife-beating and being a giant asshole, I give his performance kudos. And Marisa's role as a washed out stripper is a mirror to Rourke's, and in many ways almost sadder. Honestly, I don't know how Aronofsky pulled this one off without elliciting the audience's tears. This film is beautiful and harsh all at once, like a dollar bill stapled to someone's forehead for nothing more than comic effect.

Sifted: 9/10


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Now playing: Black Milk - Losing Out (feat. Royce Da 5'9")
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