“He did not care any more… life and death… the same. Only that the crowd would be there to greet him with howls of lust and fury. He began to realize his sense of worth… he mattered. –Conan the Barbarian
And so it could be said for Randy “the Ram” Robinson. His worth in this world is found standing bloodied in the squared circle. In the real world, the turnbuckle of life deals blows from which the Ram cannot recover. He has an estranged daughter, a stripper who isn’t too interested in his advances, and a broken down trailer that is stuck in a park where the landlord is as unforgiving as a Dusty Rhodes elbow. But in the ring….aaahhh…the howls of lust and fury are his siren song.
The fact that Rourke was tapped to play the Ram in David Aronofsky’s the Wrestler did not happen by accident. Rourke’s life, in many ways, mirrors that of his on screen persona. The Ram is a self admitted “broken down piece of meat” whose better days as a wrestler are compiled in a “best of” VHS tape that he sells at VFW halls to empty crowds. He plies his trade in gymnasiums and small venues for a very paltry cut of the action. His body is a wreck that subsists on pills, tanning beds and the memory of yesterday’s glory. In the 80’s the Ram was a star; part Rick Rude, part Hulk Hogan and a little Michael PS Hayes from Bad Street USA. He cashed in during the sports “hey day” and is now busted cold.
There isn’t all that much new material in the Wrestler. “Has been” and “last shot” movies are a dime a dozen and this one follows a formulaic path. Marisa Tomei plays the stripper with the heart of gold convincingly. She maybe the Rams last shot at love. In a great scene they discuss the glory of 80’s music and how Cobaine had to come on the scene and fuck it all up. If either of the two owned a Delorian they’d set the flux capacitor to 1984 and never look back. Their chemistry is broken only by the stripper code (as an aside if you don’t know the stripper code please stop reading now and go directly to a strip joint for no fewer than 9 straight hours before resuming).
The Ram tries to rekindle a relationship with his daughter and works in a grocery store where he is sometimes recognized by fans. The actual wrestling matches are cartoonish in their violence and not easy to watch. Rourke, though, owns the movie. If he weren’t in it, it just wouldn’t work. But he is, and it does.
(I apologize for the necessary digression)
In the Pope of Greenwich Village, Mickey Rourke was young, handsome and an obviously gifted actor. He strolled down the streets of Little Italy in control; it was his town. In the opening scene Rourke (Charlie) is getting dressed to the nines as Sinatra’s Summer Wind belted in the night. As he shot his cuffs and slicked his dew, a promising life as an actor lay ahead. Those who said he could have been the next Bobby D missed the mark by half. He could have been the next Brando.
After a few good roles, Rourke seemed to get lost in a haze of anger, booze and bad luck. He would pop up in tabloids, boxing matches, and a movie from time to time. He seemed broken (somehow) at best and wasted talent at worst. That I love Rourke as an actor is no news to my friends who have had to sit through my, “Ronnie told you not to rob..you robbed…you was wrong.”, routine on many a late night. When the 80’s ended, so did Rourke.
In this film Rourke seeks artistic redemption through a character that seeks it as well. It is the rare co-mingling of fact and fiction that makes us wonder how much acting Rourke is dong and how much of it is a plea for deliverance. As an actor, Rourke just wants to ditty bop one more time. The Academy is sure to take note.
The Wrestler is not a feel good movie and it does not make you smile. Movies about broken people and broken places rarely do. It is a singularly American movie and a reminder of how talent and glory are fleeting and how easily the trappings of life can swallow people whole. As the credits role Springsteen belts out a fitting tune as only the Boss can. It is a new song, however, and nothing about the Ram is new. As I was listening to E Street radio on XM last week Mickey Rourke was the guest DJ. He played the title track from the wrestler and then followed it up with his own personal favorite, the last verse of which could be on the Rams or Rourke’s tomb stone:
“Nothing is forgotten or forgiven,
when it’s your last time around,
I got stuff running ’round my head
That I just can’t live down.
When we found the things we loved,
They were crushed and dying in the dirt.
We tried to pick up the pieces,
And get away without getting hurt,
But they caught us at the state line,
And burned our cars in one last fight,
And left us running burned and blind,
Chasing something in the night.”
DMC
