Somewhere back in the late Eighties and early Nineties, around the time of Saddam Hussein's transformation from "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" to plain old bad guy, the "professional wrestling" world liked to use guys dressed up as Arabs as foils for the all-American good guys like "Hulk Hogan" and "Sergeant Slaughter." After Desert Storm and Saddam's blustering about "the mother of all battles," how could an obvious loser like mustachioed "General Adnan" possibly beat the guy swathed in the Stars and Stripes?
In Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler, the arch baddie is "The Ayatollah," presumably an Iranian, but in the world of CZW (Combat Zone Wrestling - "ultraviolent professional wrestling") these geopolitical niceties are for sissies. And Randy "The Ram" Robinson is the peroxide-tressed American Hero ("USA! USA!" chant the fans) who will fight that momma of all career battles.
Therein any resemblance to Rocky ends.
As readers of these pages know, I don't normally comment on Hollywood films, figuring that there are more than enough people in the blogosphere who will beat me to it. My cinematic territory is usually South of the Med and east of the Oder-Neisse, places where I can milk maximum socio-political content from the oodles of international films that screen in Brussels.
And socio-political content there is a-plenty in The Wrestler, which, despite its title, isn't "only" a wrestling film. Plus I think that Mickey Rourke - whose work I really never knew before this film - probably deserves the Oscar for Best Actor after his amazingly nuanced (yes) performance in the title role. Fellow Brussels blogger/editor/writer James Drew, in his annual "Picturenose" Oscar picks, has Frank Langella getting the statue for his role as a jowly president, but maybe James hasn't seen Mickey Rourke (Update: he has!). That said, I myself have yet to see Frost/Nixon, not to speak of Slumdog Millionaire and a bunch of other contenders.
Rourke has been making the rounds of European TV and print journalists in conjunction with The Wrestler's release this month, and the trailer has created a certain anticipation for what many see as the performance of a lifetime. Again, not knowing Rourke's previous work, I can't speak to his evolution, but it's clear that his personal story of failure and (possible) redemption is compelling. But there's no doubt in my mind that his performance is truly worthy of his Golden Globe, his Bafta, and beyond.
Now back to my socio-political stuff. Well, there is that Ayatollah, and it's a nice little touch to give "The Ram" an Iranian-American doctor. But mostly it's about the great insight into the underside of America (apologies to the state of New Jersey, but the location shots bring back memories of Atlantic City in the winter rain and other childhood nightmares). Brooklynite Marisa Tomei does a very credible "New Joysie" accent, and is perfect in her role as a single mom who befriends "The Ram."
You'll learn more about "pharmacists" in the locker room, the economics of trailer park leases (no cash, no key), and strip club etiquette (not a brothel, at least not technically) than many a learned tome can provide. And in the America of 2009, with the ranks of the desperate increasing with every house repossession, how many will be forced to earn their bread in ways unheard of since Depression-era dance marathons?
Frankly, I had not seen a wrestling match since the early Nineties, when my father used to tape WWF "Summer Slam" extravaganzas for his grandchildren, starved of American "culture" by their parents' worldwide wandering in places bereft of TV. It was good, clean (?) fun, with the bad guy (a favorite whipping boy was "I.R.S.," who used to appear in the ring with suit, tie, and briefcase before he got trounced by some patriotic tax refusenik) always clearly identifiable.
Now we know that you can't always spot the bad guy by what he wears, and that good guys can have, as they say, "issues."