The Wrestler (FINALLY)

This is the trailer for The Wrestler. This is the first film I worked on, and it is directed by on of my favorite directors currently working (and, well, EVER), Darren Aronofsky. I will try to keep this as free of bias as I can, keeping my details on the film itself, and not really about the making of it, my experiences therein, nor about the details of my trip to Toronto with my special ladyfriend (which I shall actually detail in my livejournal shortly).
In the early evening of Sunday, September 7th, I waited in line outside the Elgin Theater with my girlfriend. We waited for about half an hour, the line growing thicker and more dense, and then when the limos and black, tinted SUV's started to arrive we knew that it would soon be showtime. We were led through the glass and gilded doors that led into the massive, carpeted lobby, warmly decored in red carpeting and gilded panelling lining the doorways. We passed Darren, giving interviews to cameras nad journalists.
We walked to the auditorium, a massive, tiered affair in the back of the building. On the stage, backed with a large, closed black curtain, was a lone podium illuminated in spotlight. We found our seats, up on the balcony, which too was massive, and I admired the intricate design of the ceiling, deftly designed in Roman arches and a fresco, a giant gold chandelier (electric lights, naturally). Below and to the the sides were private booths with one or two seats arranged in the wings: for the most part these were reserved, but empty. I saw Darren walk in, and after few minutes there was a half-hearted rendering of "Happy birthday" as Evan Rachel-Wood entered the auditorium.
Befroe the movie began the preseident of the Toronto Film Festival gave an introduction, and then Darren and his producer, Scott Franklin, walked onstage. Darren chit-chatted, poking light-hearted fun at Mr. Franklin's new dress shoes, and then began to praise the crew, the film, and, in particular, Mickey Rourke. He introduced Mickey, who suantered onstage just like the coolest motherfucker ever: his hair was considerably shorter than during filming, and slightly dissheveled. He said little to nothing, but just chew on a toothpick and smile, putting a hand up in greeting. He wore a comfortable looking casual outfit (still expensive, I'm sure), and no tie: his collar was unbuttonned. He oozed cool. The cool he had in Diner. The cool he had in The Pope Of Greenwich Village. He had that subltly sad look from Spun. But damn did he look cool. Evan Rachel-Wood was invited onstage, and she was wearing a long black dress, very sporty, and seemed slightly tipsy and unprepared for a speech, instead wondering when she can get to party as it was her birthday. Finally, Darren introduced the film, after quipping if anyone would want to release it, and the auditorium darkened. After a few promos, the film started.
The film starts witha Quiet Riot song playing over a pan over newspaper clippings and posters showcasing Randy "The Ram" Robinson, Mickey Rourke's titular character. After the credits roll, we get a hard cut to Randy cleaning up after a match in what appears to be an elementary school, his back to the camera. And I quickly came to realize how different, stylistically, this was to any other Darren Aronofosky film.
The cinematographer, Maryse Alberti, spent a lot of her time following Randy rather than embracing him. The camera lets him lead its movements: Randy looks left, the camera pans left; Randy walks up stairs, the camera follows him, etc. The look is evocative of the theme of the movie: a man slightly behind in the times, over his prime, looking back to his glory days. This can also be applied to the actor himself, who has heretofore been referred to as a "has-been" (when I met him he was pretty nice and inviting). The camera is is looking back at him, like a weight tied behind him, slowing down his movements. However, once in the ring, the camera swerves and dances along with the wrestlers, playing the ring along with them.
What was most surprising is how deft Mickey seems in the character, as if he were playing him for years: Rourke is built like a man who has indeed spent the past 20 years doing physically punishing work, and the make-up on his face reflects that as well: hear a scar, there a pock-mark, there another scar. I had seen him nearly every day for 3 motnhs and was still impressed and surprised and moved by how subtle he is in the film. When his character is walking along Asbury Park (itself a run down attraction much past its prime) with his daughter Stephanie (played by Evan Rachel-Wood), and he talks about how he was never around, and how he deserves to be alone but he just doesn't want her to hate him, you can hear that it is no longer Randy talking, but Mickey. Often in the film I felt that it was Mickey speaking, not Randy. All the class and playfulness and fun warmth that Randy exhibits is really Mickey, the man, letting his guard down after 15 years of building up defenses. The final fight, the final twenty minutes or so, play so emotionally compromising that I couldn't help but root for the man even though I knew how it would end. The last shot of the movie...man. That gave me goosebumps I never thought I'd experience.
The other actors fared differently. Marisa Tomei is beautiful as Cassidy, ne' Pam, Randy's stripper friend who spends much of her time topless (no mind there) and fighting her barely-hidden feelings towards Randy, her only "real" friend (and vice versa). This is a very different role for Ms. Tomei, and she plays it very well, and she is very beautiful, even when bundled up in a thick winter coat in the middle of Elizabeth. Her face conveys a subtle sadness about not only her life, but Randy's: they reflect each other's failures.
Evan Rachel-Wood could have fared a lot better if she weren't cranked up to 11. But in her quiter moments (the aforementioned Asbury Park scene) she really shines. There are a few other scenes that I know were left on the cutting room floor that really developed her relationship with her estranged father, but I guess they slowed the film down a bit. Her final scene with her father is so small and pivotal, so final, her words so quiet and deliberate, it's hard not to feel what Randy feels.
The supporting characters are a surprising lot: Todd Barry shows up as the supermarket manager Wayne, a hard-ass on Randy's case; Aronofsky regulars Mark Margolis and Ajay Naidu (so nice in person, both of them, and both understated in this film); Wass Stevens as a fight promoterdoes his thing well; but much kudos goes to all of the wrestlers, especailly Mike Miller and Ernest Miller, each playing the first and last opponents to Randy in the film respectively. A particularly brutal fight against the hillbilly wrestler Necrobutcher is one of the highlights of the film in terms of action, but not the most emotionally rewarding of the film.
Again, Aronofsky changes gears completely, presenting an extremely down-to-earth, restrained, subtle, emotionally human affair, without the visual flairs he utilized in Pi, Requiem For A Dream, or the surprisingly unpopular The Fountain. Ms. Alberti, the cinematographer, allows the camera to flow freely in and out of scenes, constantly moving. I am otherwise not a fan of hand-held shots, but here I got used to it extremely quickly, as sometimes the camera is so smooth you fail to realize it is not on a tripod at all.
The production design is also effective here, and that becomes evident no where else as effectively as Randy's trailer, a decrepit affair that is dirty, dank, and trapped in the 1980's, a reflection of his crumbling life. The scenes in the strip club are also top-notch (in terms of production design...you should have seen the place before we shot). THe locations used also reflect the Ram's lifestyle and situation: the Acme supermarket where he works; the sad trailer in which he lives; the community centers he highlights for the few faithful fans; the empty, sad conventions where he makes about five bucks signing autographs; the decrepit ruins of Asbury Park, once a beautiful attraction, now left to slowly die in quiet indignity.
The music is the most understated aspect of the entire film. I didn't notice Clint Mansell's score (aside from the climax), as Mr. Aronofsky chooses hit 1980's songs to populate his soundtrack (to great effect --- when you hear "Sweet Child O'Mine" tell me you don't get excited, especially now that Guns N'Roses themselves are attempting a comeback of sorts with Chinese Democracy.) The highlight of the soundtrack though is Bruce Springsteen's original, acoustic song, "The Wrestler", which plays over the closing credits, a beautiful, quiet, sombre ballad.
The script (the first Aronofsky film not scripted by him as well) though sometimes bordered on pretentiousness and cliche. Robert Seigel, the writer, obviously has a deep understanding and respect of wrestling as a sport and "Art" (take that as you will), but in reading the script I felt that some scenes would be borderline boring simple due to the fact they've been done before in multiple movies. Thankfully some of these scenes were cut out of the final film. But there are moments where he shines and the emotion is genuine. Oddly, some of these scenes are cut as well...maybe for pacing or technical reasons). The Asbury Park sequence, and when Randy and Stephanie confront each other for the last time are heartbreakingly genuine. Kudos to Mr. Rourke also...the speech he gives before his final fight was all him...and, according to an interview he did with Entertainment Weekly, all true in terms of his life. He hasn't watched that scene yet...and I don't blame him. Todd Barry's scenes, while humorous, might've been funnier if the actor were left to his own devices; and I think the film suffers slightly from a lack of comedy...but that's not the point with this film: Randy isn't a man enjoying himself, he's a man obsessed with the glory days, the glory days long and gone, and coming to face that fact is a painful affair. The film has many moments of being fun...just not many of being funny. (Although that neon-lime-green jacket had everyone laughing, as well as Randy's playing Nintendo with a young neighbor: "Call of...Call of what? Doody? Call of Duty?") You root for the man, so charismatically and likably played by an actor finally respecting the medium, the art, and, finally himself. It's hard not to like a man who tosses potato salad as effortlessly and playfully as the Ram does.
Was I satisfied with the final product? Yes. Does Mickey Rourke desrve all the praise he is getting? Yes. He is no longer a badass. He is no longer a prima donna. He is no longer a loner. He is no longer the tough-guy playing tough-guy roles. He's back to his roots, an actual actor again. We've missed him for the past decade and a half (I'm 22 and looking back to his old films...and now looking forward to his new ones). If Sylvester Stallone can ressurect his career and regain respect with his Rocky and Rambo codas, and simultaneously force the studios to acknowledge the worth of their older actors, then Mickey Rourke deserves this chance at a comeback. He's worked damn hard for it in this film alone, and seems humbled by the experience to actually attempt to work seriously again.
I welcome his return.
Darren Aronofsky may have made The Wrestler, but Mickey Rourke made The Wrestler mean something. And sometimes that's the difference between a good movie and a great movie.
This is the latter.

Comes to New York December 19th, and in wider release January 17th.

http://movies.nytimes.com/2008/12/17/movies/17wres.html?ref=movies