I should be hanged till death if I call this a movie review. It’s been a year since The Wrestler was released and all top critics had already dissected it. Instead, I would prefer to call it ‘my experience’ watching one of the best movies of the previous year.
I was in class 6 when wrestling “entertainment” saw its golden age in India. Every urban adolescent boy talked about WWF (now WWE), and ignorance of names and statistics would lead to outcast. With no data to support, I should be cautious in assuming, that it was an age where the metropolitan Indian kids (and I mean kids only) worshipped wrestling – but not cricket. (At least I thought so).
We split factions in the name of Hulk Hogan, Hitman and The Undertaker. classrooms and playgrounds we wrestled each other and tried every possible stunt we saw on the television. (That makes me one of the many spoiled kids because of whom they coined the advisory “Don’t Try this at home!” in the first place). Once my class teacher caught me moments before my impending victory in a fight against my archrival (in the ring; otherwise a thick friend). As a punishment, we both were asked to stand outside the class for the rest of the day. That made us the wrestling superstars of the class.
Since many factors like teachers, parents and big brothers hindered the classroom wrestling bouts, we kids devised an alternative – “the wrestling trump cards”! I became a champion of this passive form of wrestling. Usually, the trophy was a wrestling-themed postcard and collecting and exchanging them became another common hobby. I still remember when my neighbour’s kid and I went all the way from Virugambakkam to Ashok Nagar in bicycles, to be the first to buy the latest Summerslam Postcards.
I believed that the stunts were real. I thought that the rivalry between the wrestling superstars and the backstories were true.
Now here I am, carefully highlighting the word “entertainment” in the second paragraph because I know the WWF matches were scripted and choreographed by someone and performed by our beloved stars. Nevertheless, I am still happy for what I saw, did and believed as a kid.
The first ever Mickey Rourke movie I saw was Sin City. I didn’t actually know during last year’s Academy Awards, what great work he did to be nominated. Consequently, the first emotion that hit me while and after watching the movie was ‘guilt’. A true cinéphile should not take one year to watch The Wrestler.
What sets this movie apart from the other films about ‘the ring’ (be it boxing or wrestling), is the fact that we don’t see the prime days of a player. We don’t see the rise and fall (The Raging Bull) or a biopic (Cinderella Man, Ali) or an underdog story (The Rocky) of a fighter.
Only the title marquee takes us through the newspaper clips and photographs of an erstwhile wrestling superstar ‘Randy the Ram”. Here and there, Director Darren Aronofsky teases and makes us believe for a brief while that we will see some kick-ass fight scene. Some shots like the toy of “Randy the Ram” in a moving car, Randy entering a fast-food counter while the cheering and applauding sound from his past echo in his memory... we experience a huge adrenal rush and almost shout “hey! Show me one bloody good fight!”
Though we are not shown any heroics of Randy, the screenplay conveys the message it wants to. A lonely, lingering, old lion is seeking penitence.
Whatever aesthetic valuation we make is comparative. We say “this” coffee is good/bad/ok by comparing it with “all the coffee we have tasted in our life since the first time we ever tasted coffee”. Therefore, I would simply call the ring scenes in The Wrestler as just “good”. (Needless to say which one was the best. We all do. Don’t we?).
Any ‘one-day wonder’ wrestler will have a signature entry style or a stunt. Any wrestling fan will remember the haunted entry scene of The Undertaker or the HBK superkick. When Hulk Hogan (The Hulkamania!) returned to fight the HBK in the 2005 summer slam, he still performed all his special tricks (he was 50 plus by then!). With that said, it is difficult to believe that a one time superstar will enter the ring without any fanfare and perform no super stunts. The only time Randy displays his trick is when he jumps from the top rope after gesturing “go to sleep”. This is wrestling entertainment, and there should be some drama to make it feel real. One may get a feeling that we are watching some boring writer's biopic.
Mickey Rourke is back with one of the finest acting we have seen in recent times. Like a brilliant musical composition that moves from one note to the other, Mickey swings from one emotion to the other with ease. The actor delivers strength, vulnerability and love in one elegant package. I personally liked his performance when he breaks down while talking to his daughter. However, the best was when a bleeding Mickey walks out of the fast food counter, kicking and punching things on his way. I am not disputing the Academy’s decision in denying Mickey a well deserved Oscar since his competitor this year (Sean Pen) was equally good. Nevertheless, Mickey’s performance is of that class and kind that should be remembered and cherished.
I almost jumped out of the chair with immense joy when Sweet Child O’ Mine (Guns and Roses) was played for the grand finale. Movie websites claim that the song came free of cost since Mickey and Axel are good friends. Free or a billion dollar, no other song can fit into the mood and build of the climax. Sweet Child O’ Mine definitely takes us to those old days when “...everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky...”.
The movie did take me “...away to that special place” and reminded me of the childhood days when I was a fan of the wrestling superstars.
The next time I go home, I would climb up the attic and search for my relics – the WWF postcards!
“...And if I'd stare too long
I'd probably break down and cry
Sweet Child O' mine...”
