One need only look at his first three films 'Pi', 'Requiem For a Dream', and 'The Fountain'; to realize that Darren Aronofsky has never been the type of film maker to enter a project with box office seats in mind. 'The Wrestler', his latest transcendent creation is likely to receive much of the same initial criticism for walking off the beaten path of entertaining Hollywood Fare. Its 16mm pseudo-documentary style will feel like an overly used gimick of budgetary limitations to the critics bent on blindly following their so-named job descriptions. It is an indie, arthouse, film festival kind of film that is slowly paced, deeply saddening, and at times uncomfortable. In spite of which I will dare to say that not one gritty frame is wasted in this master work that tells the poignant story of a professional wrestler, wrestling with his personal life in the back nine holes of a career long past its prime.
Although it may seem obvious in hind sight, Aronofsky cast Mickey Rourke as the protagonist, Randy 'The Ram' a professional wrestler with an actual and metaphorical failing heart. Aronofsky cinematically places us so deep in his shoes, that we can smell the sweat and feel the aching warn out body parts. We spend half of the movie in a hand-held documentary-esce follow technique that literally follows Randy 'The Ram' through every crumbling part of his athletically taped togethered once glamorous life. Like the film's impactful hour and 45 minute run-time, Rourke is lean and muscular having gained 35 pounds for the role. The parallels between Rourke's career and Randy's bring a truth, and for audience members familiar with Rourke's career, an a priori truth. Not since 'Rumble Fish' have I felt Rourke so close to home as a character admired from a distance yet deeply troubled and self-conciously self-loathing in close quarters. He is at his best here, multi-faceted and affecting from his humorous charm entertaining customers from behind a deli counter to tangible moments of of deep regret. He fills the frame for 95% of the film to our benefit as he goes after the part with the kind of gusto that endures self-mutilation, digs deep into the depths of emotional truth, and carries the audience with the charisma to leave us emotionally bouyant enough to empathize with his flawed persona.
Rourke is well supported; Marisa Tomei equally goes for broke stripping away her Hollywood image and her clothes to play a stripper named Cassidy. She bests predecessors like Elizabeth Berkley, Demi Moore, and Darryl Hannah in humanizing the pole dancing struggle. Her struggle isn't in shedding her clothes or making ends meat. It is in maintaining her professionalism; keeping a distance while providing fantasy as a service. Evan Rachel Wood is great as Randy's neglected daughter. She brings the right amount of reluctance behind the defense mechanisms to show us how much she wants a relationship with her father but justifiably distrusts.
The film is great! It's definitely academy award potential great, not that it begs for that kind of validation. I'm not sure if it's film school curriculum great, but its merits definitely hold lessons for film makers and actors everywhere. He has transported us into the hallway tunnel of an underground wrestling match about to begin. Although staged, the performance is a labor of love for its gladiators. Like one of these wrestling matches, the brutality of his film is real and a thrill. Sadism becomes masochism with the presence of empathy. I would not recommend this film unless you are prepared to wrestle with your emotional attachment to Rourke's transformation into Randy 'The Ram'.
ding ding
-MM
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Living in the Momentous
I just returned from a long trip to visit with friends and family for Thanksgiving.
While driving from the place I used to call home to what I currently call home, I got temporarily stranded in an insignificant truck stop of a little town called Buttonwillow. I put myself up in the cheapest motel room I could find while I waited for morning to purchase a new tire. What I found enlightening was that my one night stay in temporary living quarters was whatever I made of it. While the state of my situation was completely out of my control, the state of my mind was open to the fabrication of my choosing.
My situation was frustrating. I was stuck in a tiny town that I didn't want to be in, with nothing to do. There were 8 channels on TV. The smell of cigarette smoke loomed in the air and the connect-the-dot cigarette burns on the thin race car covered comfortor was an in-my-face reminder of how anti-luxurious my accidental vacation was going to be.
However, my mind was free to visit the past. I often find it hard not to indulge in the sweet nostalgia of happier times long let go. Through this lens, the picture of the present in its anti-climactic-lackluster charm is overshadowed by the older sibling of precedence. Likewise, the past is equally cheated of its truth. In the place of unbiased history, stands the saccharine imposter of wishful thinking, shaking hands and kissing babies on its campaign to impeach the present's potential for greatness. Out of a lifetime of previous moments that could have just as easily been sour shadowy comparisons to the relatively further past, we pick and choose our shiny favorites to look upon with flowery eulogies over their passing greatness. When compared to the best of the past, of course your momentary motel room is dingy.
All too often we ignore the present to plan for better times and greater accomplishments that lay down the road. We bury our bitter distaste of current events with resolute projections of where we would rather be. It's an easy bargain that we make with ourselves in order to accept the unwanted. "Better days are just ahead", we say in a Little Orphan Annie view of Sunnier horizons. Optimism is only a cheap cover up for the existence of pessimism.
Instead I discovered that in this moment of life caught between my past and my future, I was free to live beyond the big picture, in a nomadic state of anything goes. A gyspy of the mind I was free to roam the entire landscape of my known experiences to provide my current moment whatever context I deemed necessary. I was still stuck in a motel room, but I was free to utilize this time to realize that I wasn't stuck at all. This moment became "Blog-worthy" and enlightening.
We often find ourselves literally, or metaphorically stranded with flat tires in moments not of our choosing. Being the sculptors of our own reality, we are free to dwell in the past that we have left behind us or live as pioneers of the future destinations that lay before us. We can wallow in the half-empty beer glasses of buttonwillow motel room moments, or we can realize the full potential of each savory second of life. Knowing that your mind orchestrates the symphony of your perspective makes all the difference between living in the moment, and living in the momentous.
Check out's at 10:00,
MM
While driving from the place I used to call home to what I currently call home, I got temporarily stranded in an insignificant truck stop of a little town called Buttonwillow. I put myself up in the cheapest motel room I could find while I waited for morning to purchase a new tire. What I found enlightening was that my one night stay in temporary living quarters was whatever I made of it. While the state of my situation was completely out of my control, the state of my mind was open to the fabrication of my choosing.
My situation was frustrating. I was stuck in a tiny town that I didn't want to be in, with nothing to do. There were 8 channels on TV. The smell of cigarette smoke loomed in the air and the connect-the-dot cigarette burns on the thin race car covered comfortor was an in-my-face reminder of how anti-luxurious my accidental vacation was going to be.
However, my mind was free to visit the past. I often find it hard not to indulge in the sweet nostalgia of happier times long let go. Through this lens, the picture of the present in its anti-climactic-lackluster charm is overshadowed by the older sibling of precedence. Likewise, the past is equally cheated of its truth. In the place of unbiased history, stands the saccharine imposter of wishful thinking, shaking hands and kissing babies on its campaign to impeach the present's potential for greatness. Out of a lifetime of previous moments that could have just as easily been sour shadowy comparisons to the relatively further past, we pick and choose our shiny favorites to look upon with flowery eulogies over their passing greatness. When compared to the best of the past, of course your momentary motel room is dingy.
All too often we ignore the present to plan for better times and greater accomplishments that lay down the road. We bury our bitter distaste of current events with resolute projections of where we would rather be. It's an easy bargain that we make with ourselves in order to accept the unwanted. "Better days are just ahead", we say in a Little Orphan Annie view of Sunnier horizons. Optimism is only a cheap cover up for the existence of pessimism.
Instead I discovered that in this moment of life caught between my past and my future, I was free to live beyond the big picture, in a nomadic state of anything goes. A gyspy of the mind I was free to roam the entire landscape of my known experiences to provide my current moment whatever context I deemed necessary. I was still stuck in a motel room, but I was free to utilize this time to realize that I wasn't stuck at all. This moment became "Blog-worthy" and enlightening.
We often find ourselves literally, or metaphorically stranded with flat tires in moments not of our choosing. Being the sculptors of our own reality, we are free to dwell in the past that we have left behind us or live as pioneers of the future destinations that lay before us. We can wallow in the half-empty beer glasses of buttonwillow motel room moments, or we can realize the full potential of each savory second of life. Knowing that your mind orchestrates the symphony of your perspective makes all the difference between living in the moment, and living in the momentous.
Check out's at 10:00,
MM
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